1 


SECTION 


SECTION    558 


OR 


THE  FATAL  LETTER 


FROM    THE    DIARY    OF 

INSPECTOR    BYRNES 


BY 


JULIAN  HAWTHORNE 

OF  "  A   TRAGIC   MYSTERY,"  "  THE  GRE^ 
ROBBERY,"    "AN   AMERICAN    PENMAN,"    ETC. 


AUTHOR   OF  "A   TRAGIC    MYSTERY,"  "THE  GREAT    BANK 


CASSELL     &     COMPANY,      LIMITED, 
104  &:  106  FOURTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


COPYRIGHT, 

1888, 
By  O.   M.   DUNHAM. 


All  rights  reserved. 


Pres«  W.  L    Mershon  &  Co., 
Rahway,  N.  J. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
A  WINTER  FIRESIDE,      -  i 

CHAPTER  II. 
A  MODERN  FINANCIER,   -  -     n 

CHAPTER   III. 
A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS,  -     20 

CHAPTER  IV. 
A  CONSULTATION,  -     31 

CHAPTER  V. 
AT  THE  CLUB,  -     40 

CHAPTER  VI. 
NEWS,    -  -     49 

CHAPTER  VII. 
TALBOT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS,     -  -     57 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
CUNLIFFE'S  TROUBLE,    -  -     69 

CHAPTER    IX. 
A  CUP  OF  TEA,       -  -     78 

CHAPTER  X. 
A  SLEIGH-RIDE,      -  -    87 

548 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XL 
GENERAL  WEYMOUTH,  -  .  -     97 

CHAPTER  XII. 
A  TALE  OF  THE  CITY,  .         .  107 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
OUT  OF  JOINT,      -  .  .  I22 

CHAPTER   XIV. 
IN  THE  WOODS,  .  .  133 

CHAPTER  XV. 
BOLTED,  .        .  ^3 

CHAPTER    XVI. 
SUGGESTIONS,  -  -  157 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
ON  THE  ICE,  -  -  168 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 
CUNLIFFE'S  BENEFACTOR,       -  -  177 

CHAPTER   XIX. 
IN  DOUBT,    -  -  192 

CHAPTER  XX. 
PANIC,  -  -  201 

CHAPTER   XXI. 
ARREST,  -  211 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
DISTRICT  E,  -  -  222 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 
KITTY  CLIVE,  -        -231 


SECTION    ^58; 

OR, 

THE  FATAL  LETTER. 


CHAPTER   I. 

A    WINTER    FIRESIDE. 

THERE  had  been  a  heavy  fall  of  snow  in  New 
York  city. 

Snow  wraps  the  earth  in  a  veil  of  chilly  purity  ; 
a  purity  not  of  youth  and  life,  but  of  coldness 
and  death.  The  heats  of  summer  are  for 
gotten  ;  the  royal  hues  of  autumn  have  turned 
brown  and  withered  ;  the  tender  verdure  of  spring 
seems  distant  and  problematical  ;  the  blank  wind 
ing-sheet  of  frozen  white  prevails  over  all  things. 
We  know  that  the  ground  underneath  is  hard, 
impenetrable  and  barren.  The  icy  air  comes 
keenly  to  the  nostrils,  and  makes  the  flesh 
shrink  and  shiver.  We  turn  our  thoughts  in 
ward,  and  cease  to  court  nature.  She  has 
left  us,  and  we  try  to  alleviate  our  loneliness  by 


2  A    WINTER  FIRESIDE. 

huddling  together  round  Our  fireside.  Winter 
is  a  selfish  season,  and  it  is  well  for  our  hearts 
that  Christmas  comes  in  the  midst  of  it, — a 
new  life  of  the  soul  in  the  midst  of  a  physical 
death.  It  is  easy  to  be  generous  when  the  sun  is 
warm  ;  but  during  these  bleak  and  bitter  months 
the  unregenerate  mind  instinctively  thinks  first  of 
itself,  and  abandons  the  hindmost  to  the  devil. 

In  winter  the  city  homes  of  our  rich  people  are 
luxurious  and  splendid  with  all  that  wealth  can 
bestow  ;  and  life  glows  with  a  sort  of  fierceness,  as 
if  in  defiance  of  the  relentless  chill  out  of  doors. 
The  people  who  are  not  rich  feel  the  pinch  of  pov 
erty  more  cruelly  than  ever,  and  hesitate  whether 
to  expend  their  beggarly  coppers  in  food  or  in 
fuel.  As  for  the  third  estate — the  criminals — 
their  brains  and  fingers  are  stimulated  to  especial 
activity.  Winter  is  the  best  time  for  stealing ; 
property  is  then  heaped  together  in  greater  masses 
than  at  other  seasons,  and  its  owners  sleep  more 
soundly.  Besides,  a  thief  can  manage  to  pull 
through  the  summer  somehow,  but  in  winter  he 
must  live  in  the  city  and  to  do  that  money  is  indis 
pensable. 

But  the  police  are  as  active  as  the  criminals,  and 
the  battle  between  the  two  is  fought  uninterrupt 
edly  from  November  till  March.  The  courts  are 
kept  busy,  and  the  gaols  are  well  stocked  ;  crime  is 
scotched,  but  not  killed.  That  old  serpent  dies 
hard,  and  is  always  thrusting  up  its  ugly  head  in  a 
new  place.  Will  it  ever  be  conquered,  and  its 


A    WINTER   FIRESIDE.  3 

seed  trodden  out  ?  Civilization  only  polishes  and 
sharpens  it.  Religion  seems  to  live  side  by  side 
with  it  without  embarrassment  on  either  part  : 
law  inflicts  penalties  on  it,  but  also  defines  its  lim 
itations  so  acutely  that  the  criminal,  now  become 
learned  in  the  law,  uses  it  as  an  effective  weapon 
for  his  own  preservation.  So  the  great  tragi 
comedy  rolls  along,  and  the  planet,  on  its  endless 
journey  through  unknown  space,  carries  with  it 
from  year  to  year  and  from  century  to  century  an 
almost  unvarying  proportion  of  good  and  evil.  We 
may  lament  that  this  evil  is  mixed  with  the  good  ; 
but  we  must  rejoice  that  there  are  always  some 
traces  of  good  in  the  evil. 

The  snow,  which  lay  white  and  smooth  outside 
the  city,  in  the  deserted  fields  and  country  roads, 
was  speedily  befouled  in  the  great  metropolis,  until 
it  wrought  a  filthiness  even  surpassing  that  of  the 
rainy  seasons.  From  brown  it  deepened  to  black, 
with  something  of  the  hideousness  of  a  polluted 
corpse.  It  muddied  the  feet  of  the  pedestrians  as 
well  as  chilled  them.  In  the  lower  part  of  the  city, 
where  the  traffic  is  thickest,  the  nastiness  was  with 
out  mitigation.  On  Fifth  Avenue  the  condition 
of  things  was  not  so  bad.  The  sidewalks  had 
been  cleaned  and  the  snow  piled  up  in  the 
roadway,  affording  fair  sleighing  for  the  grace 
ful  cutters  that  speeded  up  and  down  the 
stately  thoroughfare.  The  people  on  the  sidewalks 
were  well  and  warmly  clad,  and  altogether  the 
spectacle  had  a  certain  brightness  and  cheerful 


4  A    WINTER  FIRESIDE. 

vivacity.  As  night  came  on  and  the  street  lamps 
were  lighted,  the  sleighs,  with  their  jingling  bells, 
disappeared,  and  only  a  few  belated  citizens  hur 
ried  along  the  pavements. 

Our  present  business  demands  that  we  accom 
pany  one  of  the  latter. 

When  we  first  see  him,  he  has  just  passed  the 
Brunswick  Hotel,  and,  keeping  on  the  east  side  of 
the  avenue,  is  walking  northwards.  His  gait  is 
swift  and  vigorous,  betokening  a  powerful  and 
healthy  physical  organization,  and  a  concentrated 
and  capable  mind.  He  is  evidently  bound  on  some 
affair  of  importance  ;  indeed,  when  we  contem 
plate  the  expression  of  his  strong,  ruddy,  well- 
molded  face,  we  are  inclined  to  hazard  the  opin 
ion  that  only  affairs  of  importance  ever  engage  his 
attention.  He  is  a  man  whose  life  is  full,  earnest 
and  active.  He  has  no  time  to  throw  away  ;  and 
yet  his  time  is  so  ordered  that  he  is  never  unduly 
hurried  or  perplexed.  Every  year  he  does  a  year's 
work,  and  is  fresh  enough  at  the  end  of  it  to  start 
on  a  new  twelvemonth  with  undiminished  energy. 

He  leaves  behind  him  as  he  goes  the  fragrance 
of  an  excellent  cigar.  A  thick  overcoat  is  but 
toned  across  his  broad  chest,  a  round-crowned  hat 
is  on  his  head,  and  his  hands  are  encased  in  warm 
gloves.  His  eyes,  without  being  restless,  are  at 
once  penetrating  and  comprehensive  in  their 
glance,  and  take  in  quietly  and  easily  every  thing 
that  lies  within  their  range.  He  is  a  man  whose 
wits  are  always  with  him.  He  has  the  air  of  good 


A    WINTER   FIRESIDE.  5 

society,  and  yet  there  is  something  about  him  that 
distinguishes  him  from  the  ordinary  "  society  man." 
We  feel  that  he  must  have  raised  himself  in  some 
way  above  the  common  level,  that  his  name,  if  we 
knew  it,  is  one  with  which  we  should  be  familiar. 
Who  is  he? 

On  a  street  corner  a  few  blocks  above  the  hotel 
was  standing  a  tall  gentleman,  somewhat  past  the 
prime  of  life,  but  of  upright  and  military  bearing, 
and  wearing  a  long,  sweeping  mustache,  slightly 
tinged  with  gray.  His  dark  eyes  and  aquiline  nose 
gave  his  countenance  an  aristocratic  look.  He 
seemed  to  be  exploring  his  pockets  for  something, 
but,  as  the  pedestrian  approached,  he  stepped  up 
to  him,  and  said  courteously  : 

"  May  I  trouble  you,  sir,  for  a  light  for  my 
cigar  ? " 

The  other  halted,  took  his  cigar  from  his  mouth, 
and  handed  it  to  the  speaker  with  a  bow.  When 
the  latter  handed  it  back  with  a  "  Thank  you  !  "  he 
remarked,  "  It's  a  cold  evening,"  and  passed  on. 
Little  did  either  imagine  how  soon  and  how 
strangely  fate  was  to  bring  them  together  again. 

The  image  of  the  military-looking  gentleman 
passed  into  the  other's  memory,  and  remained 
there,  never,  so  far  as  he  knew,  to  be  recalled. 
Continuing  his  brisk  walk,  he  drew  near  one  of  the 
large  club  houses  that  decorate  the  avenue,  just  as 
a  couple  of  men  descended  the  steps  arm-in-arm. 
One  of  them — a  portly  personage  with  a  broad  red 
beard — he  recognized,  and  exchanged  a  silent 


6  A    WINTER  FIRESIDE. 

salute  with  him  ;  the  other,  a  younger  and  slenderly 
built  man,  with  small  side-whiskers  and  a  hand 
somely-cut  mouth,  was  a  stranger  to  him.  "  That's 
a  clever  fellow,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  strode 
onward.  "  A  little  cleverer  than  a  club-man  needs 
to  be,  I  should  imagine." 

In  a  few  minutes  more,  he  turned  down  a  side 
street,  ran  up  the  steps  of  a  handsome  house  a 
short  distance  from  the  corner,  and  pulled  the 
bell.  The  door  was  opened  ;  he  tossed  away  his 
cigar,  and  entered. 

"  Mr.  Owens  is  at  home  ?  " 

"  He  is,  sir.     Will  you  walk  into  the  library  ?  " 

The  visitor  followed  the  servant  down  the  wide  and 
handsome  hall,  and  passing  through  a  door  on  the 
left  found  himself  in  a  large  room,  the  walls  of 
which  were  lined  with  bookshelves  to  a  height  of 
five  feet  from  the  floor.  The  shelves  were  made  of 
a  light-colored  wood,  beautifully  carved  and  pol 
ished,  and  were  filled  with  books  of  various  sizes, 
all  in  bindings  that  would  have  brought  joy  to  the 
heart  of  a  connoisseur  of  that  rare  and  exquisite  art. 
The  walls  above  the  bookcases  were  hung  with 
stamped  leather,  enriched  with  a  delicate  design  in 
gold,  the  tone  of  the  whole  being  grateful  to  the 
eye,  but  not  too  dark.  Standing  upon  the  book 
cases,  in  an  apparently  careless  way,  were  framed 
engravings  and  etchings — proofs  before  lettering — 
many  of  the  latter  signed  with  the  names  of  the 
artists,  and  having  on  their  margins  fanciful  little 
designs,  dashed  off  in  idle  moments  during  the  pro- 


A    WINTER  FIRESIDE.  7 

gress  of  the  main  work.  Dispersed  around  the  room 
—on  brackets,  on  tables,  in  corners— was  a  unique 
collection  of  bronzes,  ancient  and  modern  ;  bronze 
figures  and  groups,  bronze  vases,  bronze  lamps, 
bronze  caskets  and  ornaments — every  thing  in 
bronze  that  was  beautiful  or  quaint  in  form,  masterly 
in  workmanship,  and  not  larger  than  befitted  the 
size  of  the  room.  The  ample  fire-place,  broader 
than  it  was  high,  had  a  superb  bronze  mantelpiece, 
designed  by  a  Japanese  artist,  the  supports  being 
two  grotesque  but  solemn  figures,  half  man  and 
half  monster,  the  secret  of  whose  creation  is  known 
to  the  Japanese  alone.  Upon  the  tiled  hearth 
burned  two  or  three  great  logs  of  cedar,  the  fra 
grance  of  whose  burning  pervaded  the  atmosphere. 
The  floor  was  made  of  polished  oak,  with  rugs  of 
rich  dull  hues  spread  upon  it  here  and  there.  The 
room  was  lighted  from  a  great  globe  of  cream- 
colored  glass  that  descended  from  the  ceiling  like 
some  immense  lustrous  fruit  hanging  on  a  long 
graceful  stem.  This  light  was  very  soft  in  quality, 
yet  was  powerful  enough  to  render  the  finest  print 
easily  legible  in  the  farthest  corner  of  the 
room. 

But  it  would  be  impossible  to  paint  an  adequate 
picture  of  this  library,  which  is  known  to  many 
New  Yorkers  as  beyond  comparison  the  finest 
owned  by  any  private  individual  in  the  city.  Both 
the  books  and  the  bronzes  were  the  rarest  and  most 
finished  specimens  of  their  kind  obtainable,  and  the 
engravings  and  etchings  were  similarly  unique. 


8  A    WINTER  FIRESIDE. 

Nothing  in  the  room  could  have  been  exactly 
duplicated.  It  was  the  whim  of  the  owner  to 
render  his  library  and  its  contents  incomparable, 
and  he  had  the  means  and  resources  to  carry  out 
his  whim. 

When  the  visitor  entered  the  room,  it  was  empty. 
The  fire  of  cedar  logs  was  blazing  brightly  on  the 
hearth,  whose  polished  surface  reflected  its  light ; 
easy  chairs  and  sofas  extended  to  him  a  silent  and 
luxurious  invitation  ;  the  rich  and  subdued  hues  of 
the  books  suggested  solace  to  the  mind  ;  the  orna 
ments  and  decorations  charmed  the  eye  ;  every 
thing  combined  to  produce  an  impression  of  splen 
dor  softened  into  comfort.  The  room  was  no 
museum  to  be  marveled  at,  but  a  retreat  to  be 
lived  in — the  home  and  haunt  of  a  man  in  whose 
brain  it  had  originated,  and  who  knew  how  to  use 
and  appreciate  it.  It  was  organic  and  vital,  not 
formal  and  lifeless.  It  gave  evidence  of  the  rich 
and  cultivated  intellect  of  which  it  was  the  material 
expression. 

The  visitor  advanced  to  the  fire-place,  and  stood 
there,  drawing  off  his  gloves,  and  examining  the 
curious  workmanship  of  a  bronze  clock  that  rested 
on  the  mantelpiece,  when  the  sound  of  a  step  on 
the  polished  floor  made  him  turn,  and  he  saw  the 
master  of  the  house  advancing  to  meet  him. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Inspector  Byrnes." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Owens  ?" 

Mr.  Owens  was  evidently  doing  tolerably  well. 
He  was  at  this  period  a  man  of  about  thirty-five 


A    WINTER  FIRESIDE.  9 

years  of  age,  with  a  handsome,  intellectual  counte 
nance,  clean-shaven  mouth  and  chin,  light  brown 
hair,  thinning  out  on  his  high  temples,  and  a  fig 
ure  and  bearing  that  indicated  clean  living  and 
high  breeding.  Courtland  Owen  was  the  descen 
dant  of  several  generations  of  American  gentle 
men  ;  he  and  his  forefathers  had  been  brought  up 
to  wealth,  and  had  taught  themselves  how  to  make  a 
graceful  and  fitting  use  of  it.  But,  with  the  in 
stinct  of  all  genuine  Americans,  none  of  them  had 
been  idle  men.  They  had  followed,  some  one  av 
ocation,  some  another  ;  they  had  been  merchants, 
statesmen,  diplomatists,  bankers,  directors  of 
great  industrial  enterprises  ;  all  the  higher  offices 
of  citizenship  had  been  rilled  by  them  with  credit 
and  capacity.  As  for  the  present  inheritor  of  the 
name,  he  was  first  of  all,  by  training  and  temper 
ament,  a  student  and  a  connoisseur  :  but  he  had 
also  entered  into  the  active  life  of  his  day,  and  had 
been  for  nearly  ten  years  past  the  partner  and  per 
sonal  friend  of  one  of  the  greatest  financiers  of 
the  epoch.  Never  were  two  men  more  unlike  than 
the  two  members  of  this  famous  firm  in  every  ex 
ternal  appearance  and  characteristic  ;  and  yet  the 
bond  between  them  was  much  closer  and  more  cor 
dial  than  exists  between  many  men  far  more  at 
one  in  general  sympathies.  They  liked  and  re 
spected  each  other  as  human  beings,  without  ref 
erence  to  any  thing  else. 

"  I  have  something  I  need  your  advice  upon,  In- 


10  A    WINTER   FIRESIDE. 

spector,"  Mr.  Owens  remarked.  "Take  off  your 
overcoat  and  sit  down.  I  shan't  let  you  go  in  five 
minutes,  nor  perhaps  in  half  as  many  hours.  So 
you  might  as  well  make  yourself  at  home." 


CHAPTER  II. 

A    MODERN     FINANCIER. 

THE  chief  of  the  New  York  detectives,  with  the 
cheerful  composure  that  belonged  to  him,  re 
moved  his  thick  top-coat  and  seated  himself  near 
the  hearth.  Courtland  Owens  drew  up  a  chair  in 
proximity  to  his,  and  also  within  reach  of  a  small 
inlaid  table,  containing  a  drawer  fitted  with  a  pol 
ished  brass  lock. 

"We  are  in  trouble,"  began  Mr.  Owens;  "at 
least  I  am,  on  Golding's  account." 

"  Golding— your  partner  !  Why,  what  can  be 
the  matter  with  him  ?"  The  Inspector  spoke  with 
a  certain  sense  of  amusement  ;  for  Maxwell  Gold- 
ing,  the  man  of  mines,  railroads,  and  telegraphs, 
whose  riches  were  incalculable  and  whose  luck  in 
all  enterprises  was  proverbial,  seemed  to  the  pop 
ular  apprehension  inaccessible  to  troubles,  save 
such  as  might  fall  within  the  domain  of  the  physi 
cian  or,  perhaps,  the  clergyman.  But,  as  the 
Inspector  glanced  at  his  host's  face,  its  serious  ex 
pression  apprised  him  that  the  matter  could  not  be 
a  light  one  ;  and  he  settled  himself  to  listen  to  its 
unfolding  with  becoming  gravity. 


12  A    MODERN  FINANCIER. 

"  I  may  as  well  tell  you,"  the  other  went  on, 
"  that  I  am  acting  with  Golding's  consent,  though 
I  had  some  difficulty  in  obtaining  it.  You  know 
the  kind  of  man  Golding  is  ;  he  is  afraid  of  noth 
ing.  In  his  conduct  of  life  he  has  practically 
eliminated  the  personal  equation.  He  makes  his 
way  through  all  obstacles,  to  his  point.  Money  is 
his  instrument,  but  it  is  an  instrument  which  no 
one  knows  how  to  use  so  boldly  and  effectively  as 
himself.  In  fact,  from  his  point  of  view  money 
does  not  appear  as  dollars  and  cents  ;  it  is  the 
power  to  form  combinations,  to  create  values,  to  dis 
solve  opposition.  It  is  Prospero's  magic  wand  ; 
only,  instead  of  evoking  illusions  in  a  remote  island, 
it  brings  into  existence  substantial  realities  all  over 
a  continent." 

"  But  he  has  met  with  a  check,  has  he  ? "  de 
manded  the  inspector. 

The  other  smiled.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said 
he.  "  You  did  not  come  here  to  talk  philosophy 
and  Shakespeare,  and  I  had  no  business  to  digress 
upon  them.  Yes,  Golding  has  met  with  a  check, 
of  a  certain  kind  ;  though  he  will  not  admit  that 
he  considers  it  one.  It  is  easy  to  understand  that 
a  man  like  him  would  make  enemies  ;  in  fact,  if  he 
were  a  great  deal  more  personally  and  promiscu 
ously  conciliating  than  he  is,  his  enemies  would 
still  outnumber  his  friends  as  a  hundred  to  one. 
It  is  a  wonder  he  contrives  to  make  any  friends 
at  all.  To  the  vast  number  of  his  employes  he  is 
a  sort  of  abstraction, — an  embodiment  of  power 


A   MODERN  FINANCIER.  13 

and  purpose  directed  to  ends  in  which  they  are 
involved  only  incidentally,  and  from  all  concern 
with  which— if  they  fail  to  do  satisfactorily  what  is 
required  of  them — they  are  promptly  dissociated. 
The  wages  that  he  pays  them  do  not  make  them 
grateful ;  for  if  they  fulfill  their  duties,  they  regard 
their  wages  as  only  their  just  due  ;  and  if  they 
don't  fulfill  them,  they  are  dismissed,  and  that's  the 
end  of  it.  So  he  can  not  look  for  friends  among 
them.  As  for  his  rivals  and  competitors,  so  far  as 
he  may  be  said  to  have  any,  they  are  his  enemies 
as  a  matter  of  course.  He  is  more  successful  and 
powerful  than  they,  and  his  loss  would  be  their 
gain — at  least,  they  imagine  it  would.  He  has 
ruined,  or  been  the  cause  of  the  ruin,  of  many  of 
them  ;  whether  purposely  or  not  I  don't  say,  nor 
would  it  make  any  difference  in  the  result.  A  man 
in  his  position  is  driven  by  fate  ;  he  must  either  go 
forward  or  fall  backward  ;  he  can  not  remain  at 
rest.  Well,  then,  there  remains  another  class,— the 
people  who  are  employed  neither  by  him  nor  his 
rivals.  From  them,  if  from  any,  his  friends  must 
come.  But  what  chance  has  he  of  making  friends 
among  them  ?  It  needs  a  bold  man,  and  one  ex 
ceptionally  indifferent  to  criticism,  to  pose  as  the 
friend  of  a  hundred-fold  millionaire.  His  methods 
are  suspected  by  every  one,  and,  if  he  be  a  self-re 
specting  man,  he  tells  himself  that  the  game  is  not 
worth  the  candle.  If  there  were  no  other  obstacle, 
however,  there  would  still  be  the  obstacle  of  Gold- 
ing  himself.  A  great  capitalist  is  obliged  to  pro- 


14  A    MODERN  FINANCIER. 

tect  himself  against  idle  intrusion,  and  he  is  easily 
suspicious  of  the  disinterestedness  of  those  who  do 
approach  him.  In  short,  there  is  almost  no  oppor 
tunity  for  him  to  form  those  ties  that  bind  ordinary 
men  together  in  the  bonds  of  friendly  good-fellow 
ship.  For  most  practical  intents  and  purposes  he 
is — as  Madame  de  Stael  said  Napoleon  was — not  a 
man,  but  a  system.  His  relations  with  the  world 
are  impersonal.  With  the  fewest  possible  excep 
tions,  nobody  knows  him  save  by  report,  and  no 
body  cares  for  him  !  " 

"  He's  married,  isn't  he  ?  "  inquired  the  Inspec 
tor. 

"  Fortunately,  yes.  He  met  his  wife  while  he 
was  still  a  young  man,  and  before  there  was  any 
prospect  of  his  attaining  his  unexampled  position. 
He  was  assured  of  her  affection  before  there  was 
any  reason  to  doubt  its  singleness  and  sincerity  ; 
and  his  love  for  her  and  for  their  children  is  prob 
ably  as  strong  as  any  passion  in  his  nature — even 
as  strong  as  his  ambition.  Without  the  influence 
which  his  family  has  exerted  over  him,  he  might  be 
as  big  a  man  as  he  is  now,  but  he  would  have  been 
a  great  deal  more  dangerous  ;  he  would  have  had 
fewer  scruples  and  less  charity.  Even  as  it  is,  he 
is  more  cynical  than  a  man  ought  to  be,  and  his 
principles  don't  always  agree  with  mine." 

"  But  you  are  a  friend  of  his,  nevertheless." 

"  I  am  ;  and  I  honestly  believe  he  has  no  other. 
But  my  first  acquaintance  with  him  dates  back  to 
about  the  time  of  his  marriage.  He  had  just  sold 


.•/    MODERN  FINANCIER.  15 

that  coal-mine  that  was  located  under  his  farm  in 
Maryland,  and  had  come  up  to  New  York  to  look 
about.  Few  people  would  have  believed  then  that 
he  had  in  him  the  making  of  the  man  he  has  since 
become,  and  yet  he  was  just  about  the  same  look 
ing  sort  of  fellow  that  he  is  now, — rather  short, 
rather  broad,  with  black  hair  and  a  blue  eye.  It 
was  only  the  eye  that  told  the  secret  ;  I  never  saw 
such  an  eye  in  a  human  head.  Most  of  the  time  it 
has  a  sleepy  appearance,  as  if  the  man  was  only 
half  awake.  But  when  any  thing  stirs  him — when 
he  is  confronting  an  opposition  or  a  peril  that 
would  scare  any  body  else — then  it  gleams  like  fire  ; 
a  cold  gleam,  but  it  pierces  right  through  you. 
There's  something  almost  diabolical  about  it.  He's 
a  strange  fellow." 

"  Still,  you  like  him  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  has  done  some  hard  things — cruel 
things,  perhaps  ;  but  he  has  never  done  any  thing 
that  violates  his  own  principles.  He  is  a  sort  of 
Ishmael,  starting  out  with  the  theory  that  no  one  is 
going  to  show  him  any  mercy  or  consideration  ; 
and  he  doesn't  pretend  to  show  any  on  his  side. 
He  meets  cunning  with  cunning,  and  even  duplic 
ity  with  duplicity  ;  he  is  relentless  so  long  as  the 
fight  continues,  and  he  hesitates  at  no  means  short 
of  crime  to  win  it.  But  when  the  fight  is  over,  he 
bears  no  malice,  and  takes  no  revenge.  He  is 
above  feeling  any  personal  enmity  toward  his  rivals 
in  business.  He  will  shoulder  them  aside  or  tear 
them  down,  if  they  obstruct  his  designs  ;  but  when 


16  A   MODERN  FINANCIER. 

their  obstruction  ceases,  he  is  ready  to  give  them 
the  means  to  recover  themselves.  It  sometimes 
seems  to  me  as  if  Golding  actually  loves  a  dan 
gerous  antagonist;  he  enjoys  the  conflict  even 
more  than  the  victory  ;  and  when  he  has  beaten 
his  man  in  one  battle,  likes  nothing  better  than  to 
help  him  arm  himself  for  another.  Oh,  yes,  I  like 
him  !  " 

"  I'm  not  surprised  at  such  a  man  having  ene 
mies,"  observed  the  Inspector,  after  studying  the 
blazing  logs  for  a  few  moments.  "  What  does  sur 
prise  me  is,  that  any  of  them  should  have  the  nerve 
to  attack  him.  And  yet,  since  you  have  called  in 
my  assistance,  I  infer  that  such  is  the  fact  ?  " 

"  And  you  are  quite  right.  Yes,  he  would  be  a 
bold  man  who  would  openly  and  unaided  defy 
Maxwell  Golding.  You  know  what  money  can 
buy  in  this  city  of  New  York  ;  and  Golding  would 
not  scruple  to  purchase  any  thing,  from  a  watch 
dog  to  a  legislature,  that  would  serve  his  ends. 
You  know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  But  the  peculiarity 
about  this  enemy  is  that,  so  far,  Golding  has  been 
powerless  to  retaliate." 

"  How  does  that  happen  ?  " 

"  It  is   very   simple.      We  don't  know   who  he 


is. 


"  Anonymous,  eh?"  said  the  Inspector,  sitting 
up  in  his  chair.  "  How  does  he  operate?  Has  he 
cnpital  back  of  him?  Do  you  feel  him  in  the 
market  ?  " 

Xot  at  all.     So  far  as  it  appears,  it  is  quite  the 


A  MODERN  FINANCIER.  17 

other  way.     He  is  a  man  without  any  pecuniary 
resources  whatever." 

"  Then  how  does  he  continue  to  be  offensive  ?  " 
u  There  is  always  one  way  in  which  the  weakest 
man  can  make  himself  formidable  to  the  strongest, 
and  that  is  by  aiming  at  hjs  life  and  that  of  those 
who  are  dear  to  him.  Walls  of  gold  are  no  protec 
tion  against  the  knife  or  bullet  of  an  assassin.  I 
doubt  if  any  capitalist,  or  syndicate  of  capitalists, 
in  this  country,  could  bring  down  Golding  ;  but 
any  obscure  blackguard  who  is  desperate  or  crazy 
enough  to  accept  the  consequences,  may  wipe  him 
out  of  existence  at  any  moment  by  simply  pressing 
his  finger  against  a  trigger." 

"  Such  vagabonds  are  not  common,"  the  Inspec 
tor  remarked  rather  dryly. 

"  One  would  be  enough,"  the  other  replied,  "  if 
this  should  happen  to  be  the  one." 

"Has  Mr.  Golding's  life  been  attempted,  then  ?  " 
"It  has  been  threatened,  that  is  all." 
"  In  that  case,"  replied  the  Inspector,  "  I  doubt 
if  there  is  any  grave  cause  for  anxiety.  Threat 
ened  men  live  long.  Of  course,  it  is  desirable  to 
put  a  stop  to  this  thing,  and  I  may  be  able  to  help 
you  do  it  ;  but  in  case  I  succeed,  Mr.  Golding  may 
be  under  obligations  to  me  for  removing  an  annoy 
ance,  but  hardly  for  saving  his  life.  The  thing 
stands  to  reason.  If  anybody  really  intends  to 
kill  Mr.  Golding,  the  last  thing  he  would  think  of 
doing  would  be  to  give  him  warning  of  it.  He 
would  watch  his  opportunity,  and  strike,  and  that 


1 8  A    MODEKX  FIXAXCIEK. 

would  be  both  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  it. 
Barking  dogs  seldom  bite." 

"  Very  true,  Inspector  :  but " 

"  But  if  (as  I  gather  from  what  you  have  told 
me)  somebody  is  writing  anonymous  letters  to 
Mr.  Golding,  announcing  an  intention  of  killing 
him,  you  may  be  pretty  sure  he  will  content  him 
self  with  spilling  ink  ;  blood  is  a  touch  beyond 
him." 

"  Granted,  as  a  general  rule,"  replied  Mr. 
Owens,  taking  a  small  key  from  his  pocket, 
and  inserting  it  into  the  keyhole  of  the  inlaid 
table.  "  But  there  is  a  class  of  men,  as  you  must 
admit,  whose  actions  do  not  square  with  ordinary 
rules  or  proprieties.  They  are  not  inspired  by 
the  motives  that  influence  ordinary  men." 

"  You  mean " 

"  I  mean  the  class  known  as  religious  cranks." 

"  Oh  ! "  ejaculated  the  Inspector,  and  paused. 
"  Well,"  he  continued,  presently.  "  A  genuine  re 
ligious  crank  is  a  queer  creature,  and  his  proceed 
ings  are  apt  to  be  eccentric.  But  even  he  gener 
ally  finds  other  ways  of  gratifying  his  eccentricities 
than  by  murder." 

"  Generally,  perhaps.  But  you  recollect  what 
happened  last  summer  in  Washington  ?  " 

"  The  assassination  of  Garfield.  True.  But 
Garfield  was  the  President  of  the  United  States, 
and  we  do  not  know  what  political  notions  may 
have  been  behind  that  act." 

"  Politics   makes   fools    of     men,  but     religion 


A   MODERN  FINANCIER.  19 

is  more  likely  to  drive  them  crazy,"  the  other  re 
turned,  "  and  then  they  become  possessed  with  the 
idea  that  it  is  their  sacred  mission  to  '  remove ' 
some  conspicuous  figure,  be  he  President  of  the 
United  States,  or  its  leading  capitalist.  It  would  not 
be  difficult  for  an  unbalanced  mind  to  persuade 
itself  that  there  were  all  the  reasons  in  the  deca 
logue  for  killing  Golding — that  he  was  a  traitor  to 
his  country,  the  corrupter  of  public  morality,  the 
oppressor  of  the  fatherless  and  the  widow,  anti 
christ,  Lucifer,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  That  is  all 
he  needs  for  a  motive.  As  to  his  giving  his  in 
tended  victim  warning  of  what  to  expect, 
that  may  be  unwise  ;  but  it  doesn't  seem  to  me, 
under  the  circumstances,  unnatural.  He  wishes  to 
define  his  position  as  a  God-inspired  avenger  of 
iniquity.  He  desires  to  kill  the  body  but  not  the 
soul  ;  he  will  give  his  victim  opportunity  to  say 
his  prayers  and  make  his  will,  or,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  he  is  animated  by  a  personal  hatred,  and 
is  not  satisfied  to  inflict  the  momentary  agony  of 
the  death-blow,  what  more  effective  torment  can 
he  devise  than  that  of  suspense— the  Sword  of 
Damocles  !  However,  you  shall  judge  for  your 
self." 

With  these  words  Mr.  Owens  turned  the  key  in 
the  lock  of  the  inlaid  table,  and  opened  the  drawer. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A    BUNDLE    OF    LETTERS. 

FROM  the  drawer  Mr.  Owens  took  a  packet  of 
letters,  inclosed  in  an  elastic  band,  and  handed 
them  to  the  Inspector. 

"  As  you  will  see  by  the  postmarks,"  he  observed, 
"they  have  been  coming  during  the  last  three 
weeks  or  thereabouts.  For  a  time,  Golding  paid 
no  attention  to  them,  beyond  directing  his  secretary 
to  keep  them.  He  has  been  threatened,  anony 
mously  and  otherwise,  before  ;  and  you  are  probably 
aware  that  there  has  occasionally  been  a  strong 
popular  feeling  against  him  in  the  city.  But 
he  is  something  of  a  fatalist,  and  takes  every 
thing  very  coolly,  as  I  said.  I  suppose  if  a  bomb 
were  to  explode  behind  his  chair,  and  blow  a  hole 
through  the  floor  of  his  office,  he  would  hardly 
trouble  himself  to  turn  round.  It  was  only  by 
accident  that  he  mentioned  the  affair  to  me  at  all. 
I  was  asking  after  his  wife's  health — she  had  been 
a  little  indisposed — and  he  said  that  her  nerves  had 
been  upset  by  the  last  letter  she  received.  I  asked 
what  he  meant,  and  he  finally  showed  me  the  col 
lection." 

"Has  he,  or  any  one,  taken  any  measures  to  dis 
cover  the  writer?" 


A   BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS.  21 

"  None  whatever.  Golding  thought  he  might 
betray  himself  after  a  while,  and  did  not  consider 
it  worth  the  trouble  of  an  investigation.  If  it  had 
not  been  for  his  wife,  I  fancy  he  would  have  re 
fused  to  act  entirely.  But  it  began  to  have  an 
effect  on  her  health,  not  so  much  because  she  her 
self  was  threatened,  as  because  she  feared  for  him. 
After  seeing  the  letters,  I  advised  him  to  have 
something  done  at  once.  He  laughed,  and  pooh- 
poohed  the  suggestion  ;  but  finally  he  yielded. 
That  was  this  morning  ;  and  I  sent  down  for  you 
immediately." 

The  Inspector  removed  the  elastic  band  from  the 
letters,  and  glanced  at  the  superscriptions.  There 
were  :  upwards  of  half-a-dozen  envelopes,  all 
addressed  to  either  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Maxwell  Golding. 
The  chirography  was  the  same  in  all, — a  compact, 
small,  irregular  hand,  as  if  the  writer  had  either 
•attempted  to  disguise  his  own  style,  or  was  an 
awkward  and  unpracticed  penman.  Paper  and 
envelopes  were  of  the  same  size  and  quality,  cheap 
•and  ordinary  ;  the  postmark  showed  that  they  had 
.all  been  posted  in  New  York  city.  The  letters 
were  without  date  or  name.  Any  one  of  the 
million  inhabitants  of  the  metropolis  might  have 
•written  them,  so  far  as  their  external  appearance 
•was  concerned. 

"  I'll  begin  at  the  beginning,"  said  the  Inspector  : 
rand  he  unfolded  the  first  letter,  which  was  as  fol 
lows  : — 

"  Maxwell  Golding— Sir  :     You  must  prepare  to 


22  A    BUNDLE   OF  LETTERS. 

leave  this  world,  in  which  you  have  done  so  much 
wickedness.  Your  hour  is  at  hand.  Your  con 
temptible  race  is  run.  You  may  think  yourself  great 
and  powerful,  one  of  the  mighty  of  the  earth  ;  but 
you  are  mortal  and  you  are  now  to  die.  Make  your 
peace  with  God  if  you  can,  for  He  has  commanded 
me  to  kill  you — to  shoot  you  down  like  a  dog.  I 
am  the  chosen  instrument  of  His  Providence.  The 
Lord  giveth  and  the  Lord  taketh  away.  He  gave 
you  your  riches,  but  you  have  misused  it,  and  now, 
by  my  hand,  He  is  going  to  take  away  your  worth 
less  and  wicked  life.  I  must  do  His  bidding,  and 
I  shall  smite  and  spare  not  ;  but  I  am  willing  to 
give  you  time  to  prepare  your  immortal  soul  for  the 
awful  change.  Probably  your  wife  and  children 
will  have  to  die  also  ;  but  I  am  not  yet  convinced 
whether  the  Lord  requires  this  or  not.  It  is  better 
that  you  be  cut  off  root  and  branch.  I  shall  write 
to  you  once  more,  and  then  you  will  not  hear  from 
me  again  till  you  lie  weltering  in  your  blood  at  my 
feet.  I  long  to  be  at  the  Lord's  work,  but  I  will 
spare  you  yet  a  few  days.  All  men  will  applaud  and 
justify  the  deed.  I  shall  be  called  a  hero  and  a 
liberator.  But  I  desire  no  glory  for  myself — only  to 
kill  you,  as  the  Lord  commands.  Blessed  be  the 
name  of  the  Lord.  Say  good-by  to  your  wife  and 
children,  and  settle  your  affairs,  for  I  swear  before 
God  that  you  will  be  a  corpse  in  a  few  days." 

**  How  does  it  strike  you  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Owens,  as 
the  Inspector  folded  up  the  letter  and  replaced  it 
in  its  envelope. 


A    BUNDLE   OF  LETTERS.  23 

"  Well,  it  isn't  the  sort  of  thing  to  give  a  man  an 
appetite  for  his  breakfast,"  the  other  returned. 
"  But  I  don't  think — judging  off-hand — that  it  is  a 
genuine  letter.  It  has  a  false  ring  to  it.  It  reads 
more  as  if  the  fellow  were  trying  to  imitate  what 
he  supposed  a  religious  crank  would  write  than 
like  a  real  religious  crank's  writing.  Of  course  I 
may  be  mistaken." 

"  But  what  can  be  his  object — supposing  him  to 
be  an  impostor  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  would  be  object  enough  to  scare  Mr. 
Golding.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  merely  idle  mis- 
chievousness  in  the  world.  But  I  take  it  he  has  an 
object — a  real  and  practical  one — though  it  doesn't 
appear  in  that  letter." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  mean  that  I  think  he  wants  to  extort  money." 

"  Why  doesn't  he  say  so  then  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  he  will  later  on.  He  is  proceeding 
methodically.  This  letter  tells  Mr.  Golding  that 
he  will  be  a  corpse  in  a  few  days  ;  and  yet  it  was 
written  over  three  weeks  ago,  and  Mr.  Golding  is 
not  a  corpse  yet.  That  is  suspicious." 

"  Well,  look  at  the  other  letters,"  said  Mr.  Owens. 

The  Inspector  resumed  his  examination,  and 
during  an  interval  of  fifteen  minutes  there  was  no 
sound  in  the  library  except  the  crackling  of  the  logs 
on  the  hearth,  and  the  low  ticking  of  the  bronze 
clock  on  the  mantelpiece.  The  detective  did  not 
simply  read  the  letters  ;  he  investigated  them  in 
the  minutest  detail.  He  compared  words  as  written 


24  A    BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS. 

in  one  with  the  same  word  in  the  others.  He  noted 
the  kind  of  ink  used,  and  the  pattern  of  pen  that 
had  probably  been  employed.  He  contrasted  the 
purport  of  one  letter  with  that  of  the  rest,  weighing 
the  phrases  and  expressions,  and  striving  to  pene 
trate  beneath  their  literal  form  to  the  mind  and 
character  of  the  writer.  He  considered  the  gram 
mar  and  the  style  of  composition,  to  determine 
whether  the  author  were  an  uneducated  man  trying 
to  appear  educated,  or  an  educated  man  trying  to 
appear  ignorant.  At  length  he  replaced  all  the 
letters  in  the  elastic  band,  and  put  the  packet  on 
the  table. 

"  Have  you  modified  your  opinion  ?  "  Mr.  Owens 
inquired. 

"  In  some  respects  I  have,"  replied  the  other, 
slowly.  "  In  the  first  place,  I  think  those  letters 
were  written  by  a  man  of  culture — by  what  would 
be  called  a  gentleman." 

11 1  have  come  to  the  opposite  conclusion.  Leav 
ing  the  handwriting  aside,  a  gentleman,  or  one 
holding  that  position,  would  not  use  language  so 
crude  and  awkward." 

"  Not  if  he  were  writing,  so  to  say,  in  his  own 
person;  but  he  is  acting  a  part.  He  is  a  clever, 
wide-awake  man-of-the-world,  studying  to  appear 
like  a  half-crazed  religious  enthusiast.  The  assump 
tion  is  very  well  done  ;  but  there  are  lapses  here 
and  there  ;  there  are  some  sentences,  and  especially 
some  ideas,  in  the  letters  that  the  kind  of  man  he  is 
aping  would  never  use  or  think  of.  And  apart 


A    BUNDLE   OF  LETTERS.  25 

from  that,  there  is  too  much  self-consciousness 
throughout." 

"  You  may  be  right  ;  but  admitting  that  you  are, 
what  difference  would  it  make  ?  Golding  might  be 
shot  by  an  educated  man  just  as  well  as  by  a  day 
laborer." 

"  Not  if  the  educated  man  is  disguising  his  true 
character." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  there  must  be  a  reason  for  that  dis 
guise.  If  this  fellow  really  meant  to  kill  Golding, 
he  might  conceal  his  name,  but  what  object  could 
he  have  in  trying  to  make  it  appear  that  he  be 
longed  to  another  rank  in  life  than  his  real  one  ? 
That  would  not  bring  him  any  nearer  to  his  end. 
If  Golding  is  to  be  murdered,  it  is  all  one  to  him 
who  fires  the  shot.  I  say,  therefore,  that  the  inten 
tion  is  not  murder,  but  something  else." 

"  Money  ?  " 

"  Exactly.  He  means  first  to  frighten  his  man, 
and  then  to  work  upon  his  fears  for  pecuniary  pur 
poses.  You  observe  how  he  postpones  the  day  of 
execution,  on  one  point  or  another,  again  and  again. 
The  pretexts  are  ingeniously  devised,  but  not  inge 
niously  enough  to  conceal  the  ingenuity.  He  is 
holding  something  in  reserve  ;  and  before  long, 
unless  I  am  much  mistaken,  he  will  spring  it  upon 
him.  He  will  demand  money  as  the  condition  of 
sparing  Golding's  life — money,  or  the  means  of 
getting  it." 


26  A    BUNDLE    OF  LETTERS. 

"  That  is  to  say,  inside  information  about  the 
market." 

"  Precisely.  Now,  I  observe  another  thing  about 
this  fellow.  In  some  way  or  another,  he  has  very 
accurate  information  as  to  Golcling's  movements 
and  habits.  One  would  say  he  must  stand  in  tol 
erably  intimate  relations  with  him.  In  fact,  he  says 
as  much  in  the  letter — that  he  is  able,  at  any 
moment  in  the  day,  to  accomplish  the  assassina 
tion." 

"  Yes  ;  I  noticed  that  myself." 

"  Of  course,  it  may  be  open  to  a  slightly  differ 
ent  interpretation.  He  may  merely  have  acquired 
certain  information  about  Golding,  in  order,'  by 
appearing  to  be  in  a  position  to  gain  immediate 
access  to  him,  to  frighten  him  the  more  thoroughly. 
It  would  certainly  add  to  a  threatened  man's  uneasi 
ness  to  believe  that  his  secret  enemy  was  some  inti 
mate  personal  acquaintance — perhaps  his  confiden 
tial  secretary,  or  some  business  colleague.  He 
would  feel  no  security  anywhere,  even  in  the  bosom 
of  his  own  family." 

"  Like  the  Czar  of  Russia,  who  finds  messages 
from  the  Nihilists  in  his  napkin  at  the  breakfast- 
table,  or  under  his  pillow  at  night." 

"  But  I  am  inclined  to  think,  at  present,  that  the 
writer  really  does  know  Golding,  and  gets  his 
information  about  him  at  first  hand.  And  I  think 
so  the  more,  because  it  would  be  to  the  advantage 
of  the  writer  that  I  should  th;nk  otherwise." 

"  I  don't  quite  follow  you." 


A   BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS.  27 

"  What  I  mean  is  this.  These  letters  were  writ 
ten  for  my  benefit,  as  well  as  for  Mr.  Golding's. 
The  writer  saw  that  they  would  sooner  or  later  be 
submitted  to  me,  and  he  therefore  attempts  to  mis 
lead  me  as  well  as  him.  He  argued  that  I  would 
infer,  from  certain  indirect  evidence  in  the  letters, 
that  he  was  personally  acquainted  with  Golding; 
so,  in  order  to  head  me  off  from  that  conclusion, 
he  declares  in  so  many  words  that  he  is  acquainted 
with  him." 

"  I  understand  !  He  anticipates  that  you  will 
believe  him  a  liar,  and  therefore  he  tells  the  exact 
truth." 

"  In  this  instance — yes.  Well,  you  see  the  corol 
lary  ?  If  he  stands  so  near  Golding,  it  can  not  be 
so  difficult  to  pick  him  out.  The  field  of  selection 
is  immensely  narrowed.  From  hundreds  of  thou 
sands,  say,  we  come  down  at  one  step  to  tens  or 
twenties." 

Mr.  Owens  looked  at  the  detective  curiously. 
4<  You  certainly  deserve  your  reputation,  Inspector," 
he  said  thoughtfully. 

The  other  smiled.  "  Wait  till  we  are  out  of  the 
woods  !  "  he  said.  "  And  to  that  end,  I  may  as 
well  ask  you  a  question  or  two.  Looking  at  the 
matter  in  the  light  we  now  have  upon  it,  is  there 
any  one  you  would  feel  inclined  to  suspect  ?  " 

Owens  shook  his  head  slowly.  "  I  haven't 
thought  of  any  one." 

"  You  know  all  the  people  who  are  likely  to  be 
about  Golding  ? " 


28  A   BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  I  do." 

"  Well,  is  there  any  one  of  those  men  whom 
Golding  has  at  any  time  injured,  or  quarreled 
with,  or  by  any  means  made  his  enemy  ?  " 

Owens  took  his  chin  between  his  thumb  and 
fore-finger,  and  reflected. 

"  The  men  who  work  with  Golding,  or  for  him, 
are  apt  to  be  wholly  devoted  to  his  interests,"  he 
said  after  a  while.  "  They  may  not  like  him,  as 
one  man  likes  another,  but  they  admire  him,  and 
will  do  any  thing  for  him.  They  are  like  soldiers 
towards  their  general ;  he  may  be  a  martinet  or  a 
tyrant,  but  he  inspires  enthusiasm  and  commands 
obedience,  because  they  feel  that  he  knows  what  he 
is  about,  and  the  best  way  to  go  to  work.  Golding 
might  act  very  severely  or  harshly  towards  his  sub 
ordinates  or  associates,  and  yet  they  might  never 
think  of  turning  against  him.  At  all  events,  I 
doubt  if  I  could  throw  any  light  in  that  direction. 
Any  one  of  them  will  be  just  as  likely  or  unlikely 
to  feel  a  grudge  as  any  other." 

"  Is  there  no  one  who  has  formerly  been  on 
friendly  terms  with  him,  but  who,  for  any  reason, 
has  since  broken  with  him,  either  openly  or 
covertly  ?  " 

Owens  began  to  shake  his  head,  but  all  at  once 
a  thought  seemed  to  strike  him  ;  he  bit  his  lips, 
looked  grave,  and  finally  said  with  a  smile  : 

"  Well,  it  has  just  occurred  to  me  that  there  is  a 
man  who  fits  that  description  very  well.  But  he  is 
not  the  man  we  are  after." 


A   BUNDLE   OF  LETTERS.  29 

"  How  do  you  know  he  is  not  ? " 

"  Oh,  it  is  impossible  !  There  isn't  a  more 
honorable  man  in  New  York,  or  one  with  a  higher 
business  reputation.  He's  really  quite  out  of  the 
question." 

The  detective  looked  his  interlocutor  steadily  in 
the  face. 

"  Mr.  Owens,"  he  said,  "  in  an  affair  of  this  kind 
there  is  no  one  who  can  be  beyond  suspicion.  The 
more  extreme  the  improbability  seems  to  be, 
the  more  reason  may  exist  for  an  investigation. 
An  anonymous  letter  may  come  from  the  person 
whom  you  consider  to  be  your  dearest  friend  ;  it 
may  come  from  the  deacon  of  your  church,  or  the 
president  of  your  bank.  I  tell  you  frankly,  Mr. 
Owens,  that  for  all  I  know,  you  may  have  written 
those  letters  yourself." 

"  Well,  I  didn't  !  "  said  the  other,  laughing. 

"  I  am  quite  in  earnest  in  saying,"  continued  the 
detective,  "  that  although  it  may  be  impossible  to 
find  out  who  did  write  the  letters,  it  is  certainly 
impossible  to  attest  beforehand  that  any  particular 
person  did  not.  I  am  here,  at  your  request,  to  do 
my  utmost  to  discover  the  writer.  If  you  wish  me 
to  succeed,  the  least  you  can  do  is  to  give  me 
the  names  of  all  persons  known  to  you  who  are 
physically  capable  of  having  written  them.  For 
you  to  do  this  does  not  imply  that  you  believe  in 
the  guilt  of  any  of  those  persons.  But  if  you  wish 
to  clear  them  of  suspicion,  the  only  way  is  to  let 
me  investigate  them," 


30  A   BUNDLE   OF  LETTERS. 

"  Very  well,  Inspector,"  said  Mr.  Owens  good 
humoredly,  rising  from  his  chair  and  standing  with 
his  back  to  the  fire.  "  I'll  tell  you  the  name  of  the 
man  I  am  thinking  of,  and  on  your  head  be  it ! 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  Gilbert  Cowran  ? " 


CHAPTER    IV. 

4    CONSULTATION. 

"GILBERT  COWRAN?"  repeated  the  detect- 

\J  ive,  looking  up.  "  Do  you  refer  to  the  lawyer 
of  that  name  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  man  I  mean." 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Inspector  Byrnes 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  gazed  thoughtfully  at 
the  cornice.  Owens  turned  round  and  gave  one 
of  the  logs  a  kick  with  his  foot.  Then  he  faced 
about  again. 

"  You  see  the  absurdity  of  the  thing  now,  I  pre 
sume,"  he  said. 

The  detective  made  no  direct  answer  to  this 
remark. 

"  I  know  Mr.  Cowran  by  name  and  reputation," 
he  said,  "  and  I  have  occasionally  seen  him  in 
court.  But  I  know  nothing  about  his  relations 
with  Mr.  Golding.  They  were  friends,  you  say, 
and  afterwards  quarreled  ?  " 

"  The  story  is  no  secret,  and  I  have  no  objection 
to  telling  it.  Golding's  connection  with  Cowran  was 
formed  soon  after  Golding's  arrival  in  New  York. 
Cowran,  at  that  time,  was  little  known  ;  he  was  a 


3 2  A    CONSULTATION. 

young  fellow  of  ability  and  promise  in  his  profes 
sion,  but  his  clients  were  not  many  and  his  means 
were  not  great.  Golding  happened  to  run  across 
him  at  a  time  he  was  looking  for  some  one  to  defend 
a  suit.  He  saw  that  Cowran  was  a  fit  man  for  the 
business,  and  retained  him.  That  affair  led  to 
others.  Golding  got  in  the  habit  of  consulting 
Cowran  on  all  legal  matters.  The  two  soon  took 
a  fancy  to  each  other.  In  a  few  years,  Cowran  was 
Golding's  confidential  agent  and  adviser.  His 
connection  with  Golding  had  profited  him  profes 
sionally.  Besides  the  money  he  received  for  man 
aging  Golding's  affairs,  he  acquired  a  large  and 
valuable  general  practice.  His  remarkable  talents 
were  recognized,  and  he  had  a  great  future  before 
him.  There  was  a  time  when  he  could  have  had 
the  District-Attorneyship  if  he  had  cared  for  it.  I 
think  Golding  wanted  him  to  take  it ;  but  Cow- 
ran's  ambition  didn't  lie  in  the  direction  of  politics  : 
and  besides,  the  regular  practice  of  his  profession 
brought  him  in  a  larger  income  than  the  legitimate 
proceeds  of  a  municipal  office. 

"  Things  went  on  in  that  way  until  the  period  of 
the  great  panic  on  Wall  Street,  a  few  years  ago. 
Cowran  was  at  that  time  making  a  great  deal  of 
money  every  year,  though  I  don't  suppose  he  had 
laid  up  any  large  capital.  He  was  always  inclined 
to  be  liberal  and  expensive  in  his  habits.  As  for 
Golding,  he  was  already  then,  as  he  is  now,  the 
heaviest  and  most  formidable  man  on  the  street. 

"  Nobody  but  Golding  and   Cowran   know   the 


A    CONSULTATION,  33 

whole  inside  history  of  that  affair.  I  never  asked 
Golding  about  it,  or  Cowran  either,  for  I  was  a 
friend  of  both  parties.  But  what  appeared  to  out 
siders  was  something  like  this — Golding  was 
interested  in  a  certain  stock,  and  had  secretly 
arranged  to  get  control  of  it.  He  consulted  with 
Cowran  as  to  the  best  means  of  doing  this,  Cowran 
advising  him,  of  course,  from  the  legal  point  of 
view  ;  for  Cowran  is  not  much  of  a  financier.  But, 
naturally,  he  knew  what  Golding  meant  to  do. 

"  I  don't  believe  he  had  ever  speculated,  in  the 
full  sense  of  the  word,  before.  I  don't  know  what 
put  it  into  his  head  to  do  so  on  the  present  occa 
sion.  Perhaps  he  had  a  special  need  for  money,  and 
thought  he  had  a  sure  thing.  Whether  or  not  he 
told  Golding  what  he  was  going  to  do,  I  can't  say. 
At  all  events,  he  went  in  very  heavily,  and  kept  on 
increasing  his  investments,  confidently  expecting 
the  promised  change  in  the  market.  Before  long 
he  had  put  in  about  every  thing  he  possessed. 

"  But  meanwhile  Golding,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  had  altered  his  plans.  He  made  up  his  mind 
to  drop  the  stock  that  he  had  intended  to  boom. 
Of  course  he  must  have  neglected  to  inform  Cow- 
ran  of  this  change.  That  was  the  ground  of  the 
quarrel  between  them,  as  I  understood  it.  It  is 
quite  possible,  however,  that  Golding  did  not 
know  that  Cowran  had  been  speculating,  or  he  may 
have  been  unable,  for  business  reasons,  to  fore 
warn  even  him  of  the  new  deal.  Those  are  ques 
tions  that  may  never  be  settled.  I  can  only  say  that 


34  A    CONSULTATION. 

it  is,  on  the  face  of  it,  unlikely  that  he  devised 
Cowran's  ruin.  There  is  nothing  to  show  that  he 
could  in  any  way  have  served  his  interests.  On 
the  contrary,  he  might  easily  have  injured  them. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  when  the  crash  came,  Cowran 
was  landed  high  and  dry.  It  was  a  very  bad  case. 
When  all  his  liabilities  were  paid,  he  had  scarcely 
a  thousand  dollars  cash  left. 

"  He  and  Golding  had  an  interview  ;  no  third 
person  was  present,  but  I  fancy  it  was  pretty  vio 
lent.  Cowran  has  a  fierce  temper,  and  Golding, 
on  such  occasions,  is  cold  and  hard  as  steel.  They 
parted  in  anger,  and  have  had  no  communication 
with  each  other  since.  But  though  they  are  ene 
mies,  they  are  honorable  in  their  enmity.  Cow- 
ran  preserves,  among  his  office  papers,  records  of 
transactions  which,  if  he  were  to  make  them  public, 
would  seriously  affect  some  of  Golding's  interests. 
But  he  has  never  made  any  use  of  them.  Golding, 
on  the  other  hand,  could  have  put  insurmountable 
obstacles  in  the  way  of  Cowran's  recovering  from 
his  disaster,  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  he  did 
just  the  opposite.  Very  few  people  ever  knew  that 
Cowran  had  lost  money.  He  immediately  sold  his 
house  and  hired  rooms  in  a  cheap  flat.  He  kept 
his  office  down  town,  and  by  great  effort  succeeded 
in  paying  the  rent  of  it.  He  set  to  work,  with 
the  courage  and  determination  that  are  character 
istic  of  him,  to  build  himself  up  again.  But  it 
proved  to  be  a  longer  and  harder  work  than  it  had 
been  before.  There  was  more  competition,  for 


A    CONSULTATION.  35 

one  thing  ;  and  the  loss  of  Golding's  business 
meant  many  thousands  a  year.  Nevertheless,  he 
has  done  well,  and  his  reputation,  personal  and 
professional,  is  as  high  as  ever.  I  have  always 
looked  forward  to  bringing  the  two  men  together 
again  and  getting  up  a  reconciliation  between 
them.  I  certainly  don't  anticipate  that  Cowran 
can  so  far  have  changed  his  nature  and  character 
as  to  put  on  the  guise  of  a  secret  assassin,  and  I 
expect  that  your  investigations,  if  you  make  any, 
will  lead  you  to  the  same  conclusion." 

"  So  far  as  your  story  tells  me  any  thing,  I  would 
be  disposed  to  share  your  expectation,"  Inspector 
Byrnes  replied.  "  But  you  say,  yourself,  that  you 
do  not  know  the  inside  of  the  affair  ;  and  something 
may  have  occurred  that  would  arouse  a  more  deadly 
animosity  on  Cowran's  part  than  the  mere  loss  of 
his  fortune  would  do.  No  man  ever  thoroughly 
knows  another  ;  one  sometimes  sees  very  strange 
developments  in  human  nature.  By  the  way,  there 
is  one  very  important  request  that  I  have  to  make 
of  you." 

«  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  It  is  that  you  make  no  mention  whatever  to 
Cowran  of  what  has  occurred  between  us.  It 
might  destroy  the  whole  case." 

"  I  will  agree  to  that,"  said  the  other  ;  "  I  prom 
ise  you  that  I  won't  open  my  mouth  on  the  subject, 
to  him  or  any  one  else." 

"  Thank  you.  Secrecy,  as  you  are  aware,  is  an 
essential  condition  of  the  success  of  all  detective 


36  A    CONSULTATION. 

operations.  It  should  not  even  be  known  that  any 
detective  operations  are  contemplated.  You  had 
better  let  no  one  suspect  that  you  have  so  much  as 
received  a  call  from  me." 

"  I  appreciate  the  precaution,  and  shall  observe 
it.  But  can  I  not  afford  you  any  more  positive  help 
than  simply  to  hold  my  tongue  ?  " 

"  No  help  is  more  useful,  and  there  is  none  that 
we  get  less  of  than  silence,"  the  detective  re 
plied  :  "  If  you  give  us  that,  you  will  have  done 
your  fair  share.  But  if  there  is  any  other  person 
that  you  can  think  of — " 

Mr.  Owens  shook  his  head. 

"  I  don't  admit  that  I  suspect  Cowran,"  he  said. 
"  I  can  certainly  name  no  other." 

"Mr.  Golding,  I  think  you  said,  is  happy  in  his 
domestic  relations  ? " 

"  Entirely  so." 

"  There  is  no  chance  of  his  having  been  led  to 
make  any  connection  which — " 

"  My  dear  Inspector,  don't  think  of  such  a  thing  ! 
I  doubt  if  Golding  has  so  much  as  spoken  to  a 
dozen  women  in  his  life.  His  habits  are  as  regular 
as  clock-work.  He  goes  from  his  home  to  his  of 
fice,  and  from  his  office  work  to  his  home.  He 
neither  drinks  nor  smokes.  He  is  actually  an 
ascetic.  I  should  as  soon  suspect  Saint  Simeon 
Stylites  of  making  an  irregular  connection  as  of  his 
doing  so." 

"  You  must  remember,"  the  Inspector  remarked, 
"  that  you  are  the  only  person  to  whom  I  can  apply 


A    CONSULTATION.  37 

for  information.  All  the  other  evidence  that  I  ob 
tain  must  be  extracted  without  any  knowledge,  on 
the  part  of  those  who  give  it,  of  the  object  of  the 
inquiries.  If  any  thing  were  to  leak  out,  there  is  no 
telling  who  might  give  the  alarm.  I  shall  be  as 
sisted  in  this  investigation  by  only  one  detective, — 
a  young  man  in  whose  ability  and  discretion  I  place 
much  confidence.  But  as  things  stand  now,  I  am 
bound  to  tell  you  that  the  outlook  is  not  very 
promising." 

"  It  certainly  appears  rather  dark." 

"  In  fact,  if  the  writer  of  the  letters  be  really  a 
religious  crank,  we  may  have  to  trust  more  to  the 
chapter  of  accidents  than  to  any  thing  else,  to  dis 
cover  who  he  is.  Such  men  do  not  answer  decoy 
advertisements,  or  fall  into  any  of  the  traps  that 
catch  ordinary  rogues.  But  if  personal  enmity  or 
personal  gain  enters  into  the  calculations  of  an  un 
known  friend,  the  odds  will  be  in  our  favor." 

"I  hope  on  all  accounts  that  such  will  prove  to 
be  the  case." 

"  One  of  my  first  acts  will  be  to  attempt  to  de 
termine  that  point.  Meanwhile  I  shall  depend  on 
you  to  keep  me  informed  of  any  further  develop 
ments  in  the  matter." 

"  All  future  letters  that  may  be  received  will  be 
sent  direct  to  me  at  my  office.  I  will  attend  to 
that  personally."  After  a  pause  he  added,  "  Of 
course,  if  any  thing  should  by  any  chance  appear 
against  Cowran,  I  presume  the  matter  could  be 
arranged  without  publicity.  I  have  not  Golding's 


3  A    CONSULTATION. 

authority  to  say  so,  of  course,  for  the  suggestion 
will  be  as  strange  to  him  as  it  was  to  me,  but  I 
think  that  will  be  his  feeling." 

"  I  am  an  officer,"  answered  the  Inspector. 
"  When  I  have  identified  the  writer,  my  interest  in 
the  affair  will  cease." 

"  You  said  you  knew  Cowran,  didn't  you  ?" 
"  By   sight — slightly.     He  is  a  member  of  the 
American  League  Club,  isn't  he  ?" 

"  Yes.     He  is  on  the  Council,  I  believe." 
"  I  saw  him  coming  out  of  the  Club  as  I  was  on 
my  way   here, — a   big   sturdy   fellow  with   a   red 
beard." 

"  His  personal  appearance  is  certainly  not 
against  him." 

"  There  was  a  young  fellow  with  him,  whom  I 
didn't  recognize, — short  side-whiskers,  good-look 
ing,  rather  in  the  English  style." 

"  Probably  Frank  Cunliffe.     It  sounds  like  him." 
"  Has  he  any  particular  relations  with  Cowran  ?" 
"  Not  that  I  know  of.     They  are  both  members 
of  the  Club,  that's  all." 

"  He  doesn't  know  Mr.  Golding,  I  suppose  ?  " 
"  Who,   Cunliffe  ?      Not   at    all.     He   is  just  a 
young  fellow  about  town  ;  I  know  nothing  of  him, 
good  or  bad.     Certainly  nothing  bad." 

"  If  I  ever  have  a  biographer,  I  hope  it  may  be 
such  a  man  as  you  are,"  said  the  Inspector,  taking 
up  his  overcoat  with  a  smile.  "  It  isn't  every  body 
that  takes  such  a  hopeful  view  of  human  nature 
as  you  do." 


A    CONSULTATION.  39 

"  I  speak  of  it  as  I  find  it.     Why  not  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  would  never  be  able  to  pass  your 
apprenticeship  in  my  business.  The  Good  Book 
says  that  charity  covereth  a  multitude  of  sins.  My 
business  is  to  uncover  sins  ;  so  I  am  obliged  to  be 
economical  with  my  chanty." 

"And  yet,"  said  the  other,  giving  another  kick 
to  the  cedar  log,  which  fell  apart  and  sent  a  shower 
of  bright  sparks  careering  up  the  chimney,  "  your 
charity  may  be  of  a  sounder  quality  than  mine. 
Mine  is  chiefly  a  matter  of  temperament  ;  I  like  to 
have  a  good  opinion  of  people,  because  it  would  be 
unpleasant  to  think  evil  of  them.  You  test  every 
thing,  and  when  you  find  gold  it  is  gold  and  no 
mistake." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  the  reason  I  meet  with  so  little 
consideration  at  my  banker's,"  the  Inspector  re 
turned  ;  and  with  a  laugh  and  a  shake  of  the  hand 
the  two  men  parted. 


CHAPTER  V. 

AT      THE      CLUB. 

THE  next  day  an  advertisement  to  the  follow 
ing  effect  appeared  in  the  columns  of  one  of 
the  New  York  journals  : 

"  The  instrument  of  Divine  Vengeance.  Can 
M.  G.  communicate  with  you  ?  any  method  you 
suggest  will  be  strictly  observed.  Do  not  commit 
an  injustice.  The  Lord  giveth  and  the  Lord 
taketh  away.  Answer  by  letter." 

This  advertisement  was  continued  for  a  week. 

The  American  League  Club  is  one  of  the 
largest,  and  at  the  same  time  is  held  to  be  one  of 
the  most  exclusive,  in  New  York.  It  certainly 
numbers  among  its  members  some  of  the  wealthiest 
and  most  respectable  men  in  the  city.  It  occupies 
a  stately  and  somewhat  gloomy  building  on  one  of 
the  avenues  :  its  habitues  maintain  an  august 
decorum,  and  never  get  into  the  newspapers  unless 
they  want  to.  They  do  not  appear  to  be  especially 
gregarious  ;  they  roam  about  the  great  rooms  by 
ones  and  twos,  seldom  by  threes,  and  four  together 
would  be  considered  a  crowd,  and  hardly  good 
form.  Probably  no  man  in  the  club  would  even 


AT    THE   CLUB.  41 

pretend  to  know  by  sight  so  many  as  a  tenth  part 
of  those  whose  names  appear  upon  the  roll.  At 
certain  fixed  intervals  during  the  year  the  club 
holds  receptions,  which  are  largely  attended,  and 
at  seasons  of  political  storms  or  emergency  meet 
ings  are  called  and  resolutions  are  passed, — for  the 
club  piques  itself  upon  its  weight  in  political  affairs. 
The  club  is  also  a  patron  of  art,  and  there  is  an 
annual  exhibition  of  paintings  by  American  artists 
in  its  rooms.  Upon  the  whole,  it  may  be  con 
sidered  a  model  club,  and  as  such  its  members  are 
fond  of  showing  it  to  their  foreign  guests,  especially 
to  those  from  the  mother  country,  and  asking  them 
how  it  compares  with  the  famous  palaces  on  St. 
James  Street  and  Pall  Mall. 

Among  the  latest  of  the  English  guests  intro 
duced  to  the  club,  at  the  period  of  which  we  write, 
was  a  gentleman  known  as  Captain  Raleigh  Ham 
ilton.  He  was  understood  to  be  a  relative  of  the 
renowned  English  explorer  whose  death  or  disap 
pearance  on  the  upper  Nile  was  one  of  the  sensa 
tions  .of  Christendom.  But  aside  from  this  distin 
guished  connection — to  which,  by  the  way,  the 
Captain  betrayed  a  modest  indisposition  to  allude — 
he  was  voted  to  be  a  capital  fellow.  His  manner 
had  a  military  punctiliousness  and  courtesy  which 
nevertheless  did  not  disguise  the  genial  and  social 
qualities  beneath.  He  was  polished,  well-read  and 
well-informed  ;  he  had  been  everywhere  and  seen 
every  thing  :  like  his  great  cousin  he  had  been 
something  of  a  free-lance,  having  improved  his 


4 2  AT   THE   CLUB. 

leisure  by  fighting  under  the  banners  of  several 
nations  ;  yet  he  was  by  no  means  given  to  rehears 
ing  the  story  of  his  campaigns,  and  was,  indeed, 
rather  noted  for  his  reticence  under  circumstances 
when  many  men  would  have  waxed  loquacious 
and  boastful.  Captain  Hamilton  played  a  fair 
game  of  billiards,  though  the  small  American 
tables,  with  their  three  balls  and  no  pockets,  per 
plexed  him  a  little  at  first,  but  at  whist  he  was  as 
good  as  the  best,  and  he  exhibited  symptoms  of 
an  ability  to  become  proficient,  some  day,  at  poker. 
He  was  by  no  means  a  gambler,  however,  but  uni 
formly  refused  to  play  for  high  stakes,  remarking, 
with  the  frank  simplicity  that  belonged  to  him, 
that  he  couldn't  afford  it.  Like  all  clubbable 
Englishmen,  he  was  fond  of  keeping  behind  the 
club  windows,  and  could  very  seldom  be  induced 
to  go  out  in  society,  alleging  that  women  always 
made  him  stupid.  Like  all  Englishmen,  also,  he 
was  fond  of  horses,  and  confessed  to  a  special  inter 
est  in  the  American  trotter.  Perceiving  this  such  of 
his  entertainers  as  owned  trotters  competed  for  the 
pleasure  of  taking  the  Captain  for  a  spin  in  the 
park,  and  regaling  him,  not  with  the  diversion  alone, 
but  with  startling  statistics  of  what  the  kings  and 
queens  of  the  American  track  had  done  or  could  do 
when  they  were  really  put  to  it. 

Among  the  first  of  the  members  of  the  club  with 
whom  Captain  Hamilton  showed  a  disposition  to 
make  more  than  a  passing  acquaintance,  was  Gil 
bert  Cowran.  He  remarked  that  Cowran  looked 


AT   THE   CLUB.  43 

like  a  Scot,  and  was  delighted  to  learn  that  he  had 
Scotch  blood  in  him.  "  We  Hamiltons  are  Scotch, 
you  know,"  he  observed.  "  I  was  pretty  sure,  from 
the  cut  of  your  jib,  that  you  or  your  people  must 
have  come  from  north  of  the  Tweed." 

"  My  father  was  born  in  Edinbro,"  Cowran  re 
plied.  "  He  emigrated  in  1849,  and  settled  in 
New  Jersey,  where  a  good  many  of  his  country 
men  live." 

"  Were  you  educated  in  the  old  country  ? "  in 
quired  Hamilton. 

"  No,  I  have  never  been  back.  I  was  sent  to 
Columbia,  and  studied  law  there  after  taking  my 
degree.  I  have  been  here  pretty  much  ever 
since." 

"  Well,  you  lawyers  are  better  off  than  we  army 
fellows.  You  always  have  something  to  do.  Some 
of  the  barristers  and  Q.  C.'s  in  London  get  awfully 
rich.  But  I  suppose  you  make  more  here  than  they 
do  there." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  If  I'm  a  fair  ex 
ample,  I  should  say  no." 

u  I  fancy  a  fellow  spends  more  here  than  he  does 
in  London." 

"  Possibly.  At  any  rate,  he  loses  more,  I  guess, 
if  he's  fool  enough  to  back  the  wrong  side  to  win." 

"You  mean  horses." 

"  No,  I  was  thinking  of  Wall  Street." 

"  Oh,  I've  heard  about  that.  I  must  get  down 
there  some  day  and  have  a  look  at  'em.  I  wonder 
if  some  fellow  will  give  me  a  point  !" 


44  AT   THE    CLUB. 

11  Judging  from  my  own  experience,  I  should 
say  several  persons  would  be  very  glad  to  do  so," 
Cowran  replied,  rather  grimly.  "  What  would  be 
the  result  to  you  is  another  question." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  altogether  an  ass  in  money  matters, 
you  know,"  said  the  Captain,  pleasantly.  "  I  can't 
afford  to  throw  money  away,  as  I  have  said  before  ; 
but  I  have  a  few  thousands  that  I  wouldn't  mind 
putting  out  to  advantage,  and  from  what  I  hear  it 
would  be  easy  to  double  or  treble  it  in  a  few  weeks, 
if  a  fellow  got  hold  of  the  right  stock." 

"  Well,  you  will  do  as  you  like,  of  course  ;  it's 
none  of  my  affair.  Only,  I  should  be  sorry  to  have 
you  plucked  while  you  are  the  guest  of  the  club." 

"  Oh,  come  now  !  It  isn't  as  bad  as  that,  surely? 
Of  course  I  suppose  there  are  sharpers  on  the 
street,  as  there  are  everywhere;  but  I'm  speaking 
of  the  really  solid  fellows,  who  control  every  thing 
— persons  like  Golding  and  Vanderwick.  I  don't 
fancy  there'd  be  any  danger  in  following  the  advice 
of  Golding,  now,  for  instance  ?" 

"  Maxwell  Golding  is  a  clever  man,"  returned 
Cowran,  putting  an  egg  in  his  egg-cup  and  crack 
ing  the  top  of  it  with  his  spoon, — the  two  were 
breakfasting  together.  "  He  is  a  clever  man  ;  I 
might  almost  say  a  great  man,  if  a  man  whose  whole 
soul  is  in  finance  can  properly  be  called  great.  He 
is  a  master  of  his  art,  and  performs  with  a  turn 
of  his  finger  marvels  that  would  make  Monte  Cristo 
look  like  a  fool,  and  give  Aladdin  a  headache." 
Here  he  dropped  a  pinch  of  salt  into  his  egg.  "  He 


AT    THE    CLUB.  45 

is  as  powerful  a  man  as  there  is  in  this  country 
to-day.  Russia  is  a  despotism,  but  she  has  only 
one  Czar,  and  he  has  the  Nihilists  against  him  ; 
but,"  continued  Cowran,  his  voice  deepening, 
"America  is  a  republic,  and  has  a  thous 
and  despots,  and  Maxwell  Golding  is  the  chief 
of  them  !  What  is  there  he  can  not  do  or  buy  ? 
His  creed  is  that  every  man  has  his  price  ;  or 
if  his  price  can't  be  found,  he  can  be  crushed. 
Golding  is  above  the  law  ;  if  the  laws  that  exist 
don't  suit  him,  he  breaks  them  :  if  it  is  too  much 
trouble  to  break  them,  he  gets  other  laws  passed 
for  his  convenience.  The  legislators,  the  judges, 
the  lawyers/™  and  con,  the  juries,  the  newspapers, 
all  belong  to  him.  The  public  is  a  helpless  fool  ; 
he  knows  it,  and  wouldn't  mind  saying  it.  His 
enemies  he  annihilates  as  a  matter  of  course  ;  that's 
only  what  might  be  expected  ;  but  his  friends  suffer 
even  more.  He  leads  them  on  until  they  feel 
secure,  and  believe  that  he  values  their  interests 
equally  with  his  own  ;  and  then  he  cuts  them  down 
and  roots  them  up  and  sows  the  place  in  which 
they  flourished  with  salt.  Talk  about  sharpers  ! 
Take  your  money — all  you  have — and  have  it  paid 
to  you  in  gold  coin  by  the  bank.  Carry  it  to  the 
worst  slum  in  the  city,  and  pile  it  up  on  the  side 
walk.  Leave  it  there  all  day  and  all  night,  and  go 
back  to  look  for  it  in  the  morning.  Do  you  think 
you  would  find  it  intact  ?  " 

"  Well,  hardly  !  " 

"  Then  I  tell  you,  and  I  know  what  I  am  talking 


46  AT   THE   CLUB. 

about,  that  the  chances  would  be  ten  times  as  great 
in  favor  of  finding  every  dollar  where  you  left  it, 
as  if  you  followed  Golding's  friendly  advice  as  to 
investing  in  his  stocks.  He  wouldn't  be  satisfied 
with  taking  all  you  had  ;  he  would  get  a  mortgage 
on  every  thing  you  could  ever  hope  to  make  here 
after.  And  you  would  be  powerless  to  retaliate. 
All  would  have  been  done  correctly,  according  to 
the  rules  of  the  street  !  I  sometimes  think  that 
perhaps  a  little  Nihilism  wouldn't  be  a  bad  thing 
in  New  York.  A  bomb  would  do  more  to  bring 
such  fellows  to  reason  than  all  the  law  in  the 
country." 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Cowran  !  You're  not  in  earnest,  you 
know.  A  fellow  may  hate  a  man  without  wanting 
to  blow  him  up,  by  Jove  !  " 

Cowran's  eyes  were  sparkling,  and  his  face  was 
flushed  but  !:?  controlled  himself  by  an  effort.  "  I 
am  speaking  in  the  abstract,  of  course,"  he  said 
presently.  "  But  it  is  a  truth  which  the  history  of  all 
oppression  confirms,  that,  when  legitimate  means 
fail  to  punish  high-handed  wrong,  men  will  take 
the  law  into  their  own  handjj,  and  Golding  is  as 
likely  as  any  other  to  be  forced  to  realize  that  truth 
in  his  own  case." 

"  Well,  I'd  no  notion  it  was  a;  bad  as  that  over 
here,"  the  captain  remarked  cl  eerfully.  "  One 
always  has  the  idea  that  every  bod/  has  a  good  time 
in  America,  and  makes  lots  of  mon  >y.  As  for  this 
man  Golding — you  say  you  speak  in  the  abstract — 


AT   THE   CLUB.  47 

you  mean  you  don't   know  him   personally,  I  sup 
pose  ?" 

"  I  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  him  for  several 
years  ;  I  have  nothing  to  say  as  to  what  relations 
we  may  have  had  in  the  past.  My  story  would  be 
only  a  little  more  ugly  than  that  of  a  hundred 
others.  Pshaw  !  it  isn't  worth  while  to  let  one's 
breakfast  get  cold  for  such  a  matter.  All  I  wanted 
was  to  give  you  an  idea  of  what  you  are  to  expect 
down  there  among  the  bulls  and  bears." 

"  Well,  I've  been  in  some  pretty  lively  scrim 
mages  in  my  time,"  said  the  captain,  toying  with 
his  coffee-cup,  "  and  I've  shot  tigers  in  India,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing  ;  but  I  fancy  I  wouldn't  make 
much  of  a  show  among  your  bulls  and  bears,  after 
all.  And  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  my  dear  Cowran, 
for  putting  me  up  to  the  game." 

Cowran  nodded,  but  made  no  reply  ;  and  the 
captain,  turning  his  chair  and  crossing  his  legs, 
took  up  a  paper  and  began  to  glance  idly  up  and 
down  its  columns,  refreshing  himself  meanwhile 
with  occasional  swallows  of  coffee. 

Presently  he  laid  the  paper  on  his  knee,  and 
turned  to  his  companion. 

"  I've  often  thought,"  he  said,  "  what  a  deuced 
entertaining  book  it  would  make  if  some  fellow  was 
to  get  a  lot  of  the  *  personals  '  in  the  newspapers, 
and  put  'em  together— connecting  all  those  that 
seemed  to  have  been  written  by  the  same  people, 
you  know.  It  might  be  possible,  in  that  way,  to 
find  out  what  they  were  writing  about,  Some  of 


4«  AT  THE   CLUB. 

them  read  as  if  there  might  be  some  very  odd 
stories  behind  'em.  Do  you  ever  look  at  'em  ? " 

"  Once  in  a  while,  I  suppose.  I  never  gave  any 
thought  to  the  matter.  Are  there  any  interesting 
ones  this  morning  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  ;  nothing  particular.  This  one 
at  the  top  of  the  column  is  as  good  as  any.  «  The 
Instrument  of  Divine  Vengeance,'  it  begins.  That's 
some  formula,  probably,  by  which  the  person  it's 
addressed  to  is  to  recognize  the  writer.  «  Can  M. 
G.  communicate  with  you  ?  Any  method  you  sug 
gest  will  be  strictly  observed.  Do  not  commit  an 
injustice.'  There's  a  suggestion  to  follow  up,  you 
see  !  '  The  Lord  giveth  and  the  Lord  taketh 
away.'  This  fellow  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  religious 
crank.—'  Answer  by  letter.'  That's  all  there  is  of 
it.  Who's  '  M.  G.'  do  you  suppose  ?  " 

"  '  M.  G.'  ?  Humph  !  That's  curious  !  Let  me 
look  at  it,"  said  Cowran,  taking  the  paper.  He 
read  the  paragraph,  and  fell  into  a  brown  study 
over  it,  pulling  his  great  red  beard,  and  drawing 
his  brows  together.  At  length  he  roused  himself, 
and  handed  the  paper  back. 

"  Well,  do  you  make  out  who  *  M.  G.'  is  ?  "  de 
manded  the  captain,  with  a  smile. 

"  Who,  I  ?  No,  how  should  I  ?  Some  woman, 
very  likely.  It  set  me  thinking  about  something, 
that's  all." 

"  Try  one  of  these  cigars,"  said  the  captain, 


CHAPTER  VI. 


NEWS. 


LATE  on  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  a  hand 
some  sleigh  found  its  way  to  Mulberry  Street, 
and  drew  up  in  front  of  a  large  building  with  a 
white  stone  facing,  over  the  doorway  of  which 
was  an  inscription  signifying  that  this  was  the 
headquarters  of  the  Metropolitan  Police.  A  gen 
tleman  in  a  fur-lined  overcoat  alighted  from  the 
sleigh  and  ran  up  the  steps  and  asked  the  door 
keeper  the  way  to  the  Detective  Bureau. 

The  doorkeeper  indicated  an  entrance  on  the 
left,  and  the  visitor  was  conducted  through  a  series 
of  rooms  and  corridors  and  wicker  gates  and  be 
hind  wire  screens,  until  he  reached  a  small  ante 
room  with  a  desk  and  chair  in  it  ;  here  there  was  a 
moment's  pause,  and  then  he  was  ushered  into  a 
handsome  sitting-room,  and  Inspector  Byrnes  ad 
vanced  to  meet  him  with  outstretched  hand. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  so  soon  again,  Mr.  Owens," 
he  said.  "  But  you're  not  come  on  business,  are 
you  ?  There  can't  have  any  thing  new  happened 
yet?  " 

"  I  expect  you  know  nearly  as  much  about  that 


5o    '  NEWS. 

as  I  do,"  the  other  replied,  throwing  open  his  over 
coat  and  taking  a  chair.  "  Things  certainly  begin 
to  move  in  a  remarkable  manner  as  soon  as  you 
take  hold  of  them.  That  '  personal  '  of  yours  was 
very  cleverly  worded." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  any  thing  has  come 
of  it  ?  " 

"  There  has,  though  !  Our  anonymous  friend 
seems  to  be  a  reader  of  that  paper.  I  came  right 
here  from  my  office,  so  as  to  lose  no  time." 

"  Have  you  learned  any  thing  about  him  ? " 

"  Gold  ing  has  received  a  letter  from  him,  refer 
ring  to  the  *  personal.'  " 

"  Well,  that  is  something,  after  all.  What  does 
he  say  ?" 

"  I  have  brought  the  letter  with  me.  Here  it  is," 
and  he  took  an  envelope  from  his  pocket  and 
handed  it  to  the  Inspector. 

The  latter  opened  it  and  read  the  words  that  fol 
low  : — 

"  M.  Golding.  Sir  : — I  have  seen  in  a  paper, 
accidentally,  a  paragraph  which  bears  your  initials, 
and  seems  to  have  some  reference  to  the  mission 
of  destruction  with  which  the  Lord  has  charged  me 
towards  you.  If  you  expect,  by  any  such  devices, 
to  discover  who  I  am,  you  are  much  mistaken. 
Though  you  see  me  every  day,  and  I  know  all  your 
movements,  you  will  never  recognize  me  as  the 
avenger  of  Providence  until  you  feel  the  blow  that 
will  send  you  from  this  world  forever.  If  you  think 
that  you  can  offer  me  any  inducements  to  spare 


NE  IV  S.  5  J 

you,  you  are  equally  wrong.  I  know  you  are 
wealthy,  and  you  may  think  that,  because  I  am 
poor,  you  can  buy  me  off.  But  you  need  not  flat 
ter  yourself.  Your  doom  is  written  ;  and  even  if 
I,  for  any  reason,  did  not  execute  it,  the  Lord  would 
raise  up  some  other  instrument  of  His  purpose.  If 
I  had  wanted  money,  I  should  have  spoken  of  it 
before  this.  But  I  have  told  you  the  simple  facts  ; 
I  had  no  other  meaning,  and  my  wife  and  family 
will  gladly  starve  rather  than  that  I  should  falter 
in  my  sacred  mission.  Prepare  your  soul  for 
eternity,  for  the  time  is  now  ripe,  and  I  am  weary 
of  delay.  If  you  have  any  last  requests  to  make 
you  may  put  them  in  the  same  newspaper.  I  am 
willing  to  grant  you  any  favor  that  does  not  con 
flict  with  my  immovable  purpose." 

The  Inspector  folded  up  the  letter  and  burst  into 
a  saturnine  laugh. 

"  Well,  that  is  pretty  plain  talking,  between  busi 
ness  men,  isn't  it  ? "  he  said. 

"  You  think  he  will  consent  to  a  parley,  then  ?  " 

"  Consent  to  a  parley  !  Why,  you  can  hear  the 
jingle  of  coin  in  every  word  !  We  said  nothing  in 
our  '  personal  '  about  money,  that  I  know  of.  He 
has  put  the  words  into  our  mouth.  He  is  even 
more  avaricious  than  I  gave  him  credit  for.  And 
yet  the  letter  is  shrewd  enough,  too.  He  sticks 
to  his  religious  lingo,  and  talks  about  being  weary 
of  delay.  Yes,  it  isn't  a  bad  piece  of  work." 

"  But  you  are  convinced  that  money  is  what  he 
wants  ?  " 


5 2  NEWS. 

"  As  much  as  I  am  convinced  that  a  fish  wants 
water." 

"  And  that  his  only  object  has  been  to  frighten 
Golding  into  treating  with  him  ?  " 

"  And  he  fancies  that  he  has  succeeded  in  doing 
it.  Meanwhile,  you  can  assure  Mr.  Golding  that 
if  his  life  depended  on  this  man's  actions  he  would 
live  to  a  hundred.  Not  only  that,  but  if  his  life 
were  in  any  danger,  this  man  would  risk  his  own  to 
save  him.  He  is  not  going  either  to  kill  the  goose 
that  lays  the  golden  eggs  himself  or  allow  any  one 
else  to  do  it.  He  is  a  blackmailer,  and  that  is  all 
there  is  about  it." 

"  But  blackmailers  are  never  satisfied.  If  we 
were  to  give  him  money,  he  would  come  back  for 
more,  and  so  on  indefinitely." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  about  that.  And  yet  the 
only  way  to  put  an  end  to  the  nuisance  will  be  to 
give  him  money,  or  rather  to  let  him  make  some, 
and  perhaps  a  good  deal  of  it." 

"  But  that  will  not  put  an  end  to  the  nuisance 
permanently." 

"  It  will,  unless  he  is  a  cleverer  rogue  than  the 
majority  of  his  kind." 

"  I  don't  catch  your  idea." 

"  Well,  leaving  details  out  for  the  present,  this 
is  the  idea  in  a  nutshell  :  If  you  give  him  money, 
and  he  receives  it,  you  will  have  a  clue  to  catch 
him  by.  He  must  either  go  to  get  the  money  him 
self,  or  send  some  one  to  get  it  for  him  ;  and  then 
it  will  be  my  fault  if  he  is  not  detected." 


NEWS.  S3 

"  But  if  he  is  as  clever  as  you  say,  he  will  see 
that  danger  himself." 

"  A  man's  desires,  if  they  are  strong  enough,  al 
ways  obscure  his  judgment.  He  will  suggest  some 
means  of  transacting  the  affair  which  he  will  con 
sider  safe.  It  may  not  occur  to  him  that  you  have 
put  the  matter  in  my  hands  ;  at  all  events  he 
will  have  to  risk  something  in  order  to  gain  his  end. 
Now  that  I  know  the  sort  of  man  I  am  dealing 
with,  the  worst  of  the  difficulty  is  over." 

"  How  shall  you  answer  this  letter  ?  " 

For  answer,  the  Inspector  took  a  sheet  of  paper 
and  a  pen,  and  after  meditating  for  a  few  mo 
ments  began  to  write.  When  the  writing  was  fin 
ished,  he  passed  it  over  to  his  visitor. 

Its  purport  was  to  this  effect : — "  The  instrument 
of  the  Lord's  vengeance. — M.  G.  acknowledges 
that  a  doom  which  is  written  can  not  be  escaped. 
You  have  produced  a  deep  impression  upon  him. 
He  wishes,  if  possible,  to  make  reparation  for  some 
of  the  evil  he  may  have  done.  Can  nothing  be  ar 
ranged  for  your  wife  and  family  ?  Can  you  devise 
a  plan  by  which  he  can  communicate  with  you 
through  this  column  ?  You  misinterpret  the  motive 
of  his  former  advertisement.  Write  freely,  and 
your  wishes  will  be  attended  to.  He  only  asks 
that  you  reveal  the  secret  to  no  one." 

"  I  can  suggest  no  improvement,"  said  Mr. 
Owens,  after  reading  it.  •"  That  touch  about  the 
wife  and  children  is  admirable." 

"  It  is  a  mere  formality.     He  can  read  between 


&  NE  WS. 

my  lines  as  easily  as  I  can  read  between  his  ;  but 
it  is  just  like  many  observances  in  social  life  ;  every 
body  knows  that  they  are  humbug,  but  they  are 
observed  just  the  same.  We  may  venture  on  plainer 
talk  by  and  by.  We  will  keep  up  the  religious 
pretense  as  long  as  he  does;  and  I'll  make  bold 
to  prophesy  that  that  won't  be  very  long." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on  at  the  Cen 
tral  office,  Gilbert  Cowran  was  seated  in  his  place 
of  business  down  town,  writing  letters.  All  the 
clerks  had  gone  home  but  one,  for  it  was  after 
hours  ;  this  one  was  in  Cowran's  confidence,  and 
had  been  in  his  employ  for  several  years.  He  was 
busy  looking  up  some  references  for  an  argu 
ment. 

"  Talbot,"  said  Cowran,  after  sealing  and  ad 
dressing  his  last  letter. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Cowran,"  said  Talbot,  looking  up. 

"  Do  you  recollect  that  last  suit  that  we  defended 
for  Golding  ?  It  was  soon  after  that  big  deal  of 
his,  you  know." 

"  I  think  I  do,  sir.  He  was  sued  for  willful  mis 
representation,  or  something  of  that  kind,  the 
plaintiff's  object  being  to  force  him  to  reveal  the 
secret  history  of  his  operation  in  open  court.  He 
communicated  with  you  and  sent  his  private  papers 
and  memoranda  relating  to  the  operation  in  ques 
tion  to  you,  in  order  that  you  might  be  able  to 
judge  of  the  best  line  of  defense.  You  arranged 
that " 

"Yes,  that's  all  right.  What  I  wanted  to  ask  you 


NEWS.  55 

was,  whether  those  papers  and  memoranda  are  still 
in  our  possession  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Cowran,  they  are." 

"  Is  Mr.  Golding  aware  of  that  fact  ?  " 

"  As  to  that  I  can't  say.  He  never  has  applied  to 
us  for  them.  I  should  have  thought  he  would  have 
done  so,  for  they  are  the  kind  of  things  a  man 
wouldn't  wish  to  have  out  of  his  reach." 

"  Because  they  would  reveal  the  secret  of  his 
business  combinations — eh  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I  mean,  Mr.  Cowran." 

"  Do  you  know  where  they  are  ? " 

"  The  papers  ?  Yes,  sir.  They  are  in  the  same 
old  deed  box  that  was  used  before  we  ceased  to  act 
for  Mr.  Golding.  It's  the  last  on  the  left,  second 
row  from  bottom." 

"  I  want  you  to  get  them  out  to-morrow.  I  wish 
to  look  them  over." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  have  them  returned  to  Mr. 
Golding,  sir  ?  " 

"  Hum  !  Well — yes — possibly.  Meanwhile,  I 
wish  copies  to  be  made  of  them." 

"  Hand  or  type-writer  ?" 

"  Type-writer  will  do.  Let's  see — Miss  Claver- 
house,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  Miss  Claverhouse — yes." 

"  She  can  be  depended  on,  of  course — doesn't 
gossip,  and  all  that  ?  " 

"  I  can  guarantee  her  being  perfectly  discreet, 
Mr.  Cowran." 

"  And   I   daresay  you  could  guarantee  her  pos- 


S6  NEWS. 

sessing  all  the  other  feminine  virtues— eh,  Talbot  ? 
Well,  that's  all  right.     Let  her  copy  them  to-mor 
row.     She  can  finish  them  in  one  day,  can't  she  ? " 
"Easily,  I  should  say,  Mr.  Cowran." 
Here  the  dialogue  ceased.     The  clerk  returned 
to  his  references,  and  Cowran  put  on   his  hat  and 
coat  and  left  the  office,  with  a  thoughtful  air  and  a 
gathering  frown  upon  his  brow. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TALBOT    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

JOHN  TALBOT,  the  clerk  of  Conran  and  Co., 
lived  in  a  little  flat  somewhere  between  Washing 
ton  Square  and  Sixth  Avenue.  It  was  on  the  fifth 
floor,  and  there  was  nothing  above  it  except  some 
chambers  for  servants,  the  roof,  and  the  sky.  There 
was  no  elevator  in  the  building,  and  the  stairs  by 
which  the  several  flats  communicated  with  the  out 
side  world  were  narrow  and  dark.  But  when  you 
had  mounted  to  John  Talbot's  door,  and,  leaving 
your  hat  and  coat  in  the  little  dark  hall,  had  entered 
the  sitting-room,  you  began  to  find  it  very  pleasant. 
Talbot  lived  with  his  old  mother,  whose  idol  he 
was,  and  who  cared  for  him  with  the  same  solici 
tude  and  tenderness  as  when  he  was  an  infant  in 
her  arms  ;  she  seemed  scarcely  to  understand  that 
he  had  grown  to  be  a  man,  and  was  taking  his  own 
part  in  the  world.  Her  imagination,  inspired  by 
her  memory,  still  saw  him  attired  in  pinafore  and 
short  skirts  ;  and  when  he  took  her  on  his  knee  to 
caress  and  make  much  of  her,  it  seemed  to  her,  by 
some  magic  maternal  perversity,  that  it  was  she 
who  held  him  in  her  lap.  She  was  a  very  religious 
old  lady,  and  every  evening,  before  they  went  to 


5  TALBOT  AND  HIS  FXIEXDS. 

bed,  she  read  a  chapter  from  the  Bible  to  her  son, 
as  she  had  done  thirty  years  before,  and  ever  since. 
She  knew  nothing  of  worldly  wickedness,  save  in 
the  abstract  theological  sense  ;  and  she  could 
hardly  have  been  more  shocked  at  a  murder  than 
she  was  at  a  fib,  or  at  the  idea  of  drinking  a  glass 
of  toddy  or  smoking  a  cigar.  Talbot  was  certainly 
guilty,  though  in  strict  moderation,  of  both  of  the 
latter  crimes,  and  possibly  they  had  led  him  into 
the  fibbing  pitfall,  when  his  mother  brought  up  the 
subject  of  those  evil  indulgences  for  discussion.  But 
if  his  garments  ever  smelt  of  tobacco,  or  his  breath 
of  whisky,  she  did  not  know  it  ;  not  because  she 
could  not  smell,  but  because  she  did  not  know  that 
tobacco  and  whisky  produced  those  aromas,  but, 
like  the  ancient  Roman's  wife,  took  it  for  granted 
that  all  men  smelt  like  that. 

Talbot  was  a  steady  worker,  and  as  regular  as  a 
pendulum  ;  but  he  found  time  for  other  things  be 
sides  looking  up  references  and  writing  lawyers' 
letters.  His  taste  wa"s  for  things  in  the  way  of  art, 
and  he  made  it  serviceable  for  the  adornment  of 
his  rooms.  The  walls  were  hung  (by  John's  own 
hand)  with  papers  which  were  pleasing  in  hue  and 
design,  and  had  the  additional  merit  of  not  costing 
much.  He  devoted  a  good  deal  of  thought  and  in 
genuity  to  the  friezes  and  dados,  and  mitigated  the 
blankness  of  the  ceilings  by  washes  of  a  warm  tone 
that  harmonized  with  the  papers.  From  various 
sources  he  had  collected  prints,  etchings,  and  pho 
tographs,  which  he  framed  and  hung  up  ;  and  he 


T ALB OT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS.  59 

spent  the  leisure  hours  of  several  weeks  in  con 
structing  a  set  of  bookshelves  that  filled  the  spaces 
not  occupied  by  the  doors  and  windows  in  one  of 
the  rooms.  These  shelves  he  then  gradually  stocked 
with  books,  giving  much  pains  and  thought  to  their 
selection,  his  aim  being  that  they  should  be  not 
only  of  good  literary  repute,  but  readable  into  the 
bargain.  He  got  Milton,  perhaps  in  deference  to 
his  mother  ;  Shakespeare  he  got  for  himself  ;  he 
owned  a  copy  of  "Tom  Jones,"  but  Johnson's 
"  Rasselas  "  was  not  among  his  possessions.  He 
bought  a  number  of  comfortable  chairs,  in  which  to 
sit  while  reading  his  volumes,  and  a  broad-seated 
sofa  for  his  mother  to  lie  down  upon  when  she  felt 
tired.  They  did  not  keep  a  servant  of  their  own, 
but  the  wife  of  the  janitor,  for  a  consideration,  did 
the  rough  part  of  the  work,  leaving  old  Mrs.  Talbot 
to  cook  her  son's  breakfast  and  dinner,  and  per 
form  such  dusting  and  polishing  and  setting-in- 
order  as  could  be  properly  performed  only  by  a 
mother  or  a  wife.  With  the  latter  commodity  and 
crown  of  domestic  happiness,  John  Talbot,  at 
thirty  years  of  age,  was  unprovided.  Perhaps  this 
was  the  result  of  his  own  fastidiousness  or  lack  of 
social  opportunities  ;  perhaps  a  lack  of  apprecia- 
tiveness  on  the  ladies'  part  was  to  blame;  or  perhaps 
John  felt  that  his  mother  would  be  a  critic  much 
less  easily  satisfied  than  himself.  At  all  events,  he 
was  still  a  bachelor,  though  signs  were  not  wanting 
that  he  had  registered  no  vows  of  perpetual 
celibacy. 


60  TALBOT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 

In  fact — and  it  was  a  fact  which,  as  we  have 
seen,  had  not  escaped  the  eye  of  Gilbert  Cowran — 
Talbot  was  at  this  very  time  in  the  throes  of  an  af 
fair  of  the  heart  with  no  less  a  personage  than  Mr. 
Cowran's  type-writer,— the  young  lady,  that  is  to 
say,  not  the  instrument.  She  had  been  in  the  of 
fice  several  months,  and  had  acquitted  herself  ad 
mirably  ;  she  hardly  made  a  mistake  once  a  day, 
and  she  was  always  ready  and  good-humored.  She 
had  short  hair — the  tendency  of  literary  pursuits  is 
to  lengthen  the  locks  of  the  male  practitioner,  and 
to  curtail  those  of  the  female — a  turned-up  nose, 
and  spectacles  ;  but  you  could  not  talk  with  her 
ten  minutes  without  liking  her,  and  feeling  con 
vinced  of  her  indestructible  goodness.  Though 
she  never  allowed  any  thing  to  interfere  with  her 
official  duties,  she  was  an  extremely  sociable  little 
body,  and  loved  talking  better  than  reading,  or 
than  any  thing  else,  except,  perhaps,  John  Talbot 
himself,  whose  long,  lank,  and  melancholy-looking 
figure  had  captivated  her  maiden  fancy  from  an 
early  period  of  their  acquaintance  ;  possibly  it  was 
a  reflection  of  her  tender  cordiality  which  first  ap 
prised  John  that  his  own  affections  were  breaking 
loose.  Though  John's  visage  was  cast  in  a  melan 
choly  mold,  it  was  by  no  means  the  harbinger  of 
a  morose  disposition  ;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  full 
of  a  fine  dry  humor,  which,  like  wine,  he  kept 
for  the  use  of  his  intimate  friends.  He  looked  like 
-an  ascetic  monk  of  the  order  of  Flagellants  ;  but  if 
monasteries  produced  such  fruit  as  he  it  would  be 


TALBOT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS.  6 1 

impossible  to  keep  the  gentler  sex  out  of  them. 
His  face  was  that  of  a  suffering  Jesuit,  but  his 
heart  was  as  warm  and  tender  as  a  child's,  and  his 
imagination  teemed  with  quaint  and  funny  conceits, 
which  never  ran  dry,  and  yet  were  never  in  excess 
of  the  demand.  You  had  to  learn  how  to  take 
him  (which  you  could  do  only  if  you  yourself  had 
certain  human  and  enlightened  qualities)  and 
thereafter  he  was  inexhaustibly  good  company. 
The  women  who  knew  him  thought  of  him  as  a 
brother,  and  to  children  he  appeared  like  a  father. 
But  Miss  Betty  Claverhouse,  the  type-writer  at 
Cowran's,  was  simply  in  love  with  him  ;  and  that, 
of  course,  was  different. 

Talbot's  friends  were  not  numbered  by  hundreds, 
nor  even  by  scores,  for  he  was  not  a  club  man,  or 
a  frequenter  of  fashionable  society  ;  but  there  were 
one  or  two  fellows  whom  he  liked,  and  who  liked 
him,  and  one  of  these  was  a  young  gentleman  by 
the  name  of  Cunliffe.  The  attentive  reader  has  al 
ready  heard  of  Frank  Cunliffe,  but  has  not  yet 
been  regularly  introduced  to  him.  Cunliffe  and 
Talbot  were  so  different  from  each  other,  and  lived 
in  such  alien  regions,  that  it  is  necessary  to  account 
for  their  knowing  each  other. 

Frank  Cunliffe  was  the  son  of  a  rich  man  who 
lost  nearly  all  he  had  soon  after  Frank  got  through 
college.  This  was  awkward  for  the  old  gentle 
man,  of  course,  and  he  did  not  long  survive  it  ;  but 
it  was  also  awkward  for  the  son,  because  he  had 
been  brought  up  in  luxury,  and  with  no  expecta- 


62  T ALB OT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 

tion  of  being  obliged  to  work  for  a  living.  To  make 
matters  worse,  he  was  not  absolutely  obliged  to 
work  for  a  living,  though  his  acquaintances  all  said 
that  he  ought  to  do  so.  His  father's  estate,  when 
settled,  yielded  an  income  which  just  enabled  him 
to  pay  his  dues  at  his  club  and  his  annual  bill  at 
his  tailor's. 

When  the  dictionary  of  misfortunes  which  are 
considered  rather  lucky  by  the  victims  of  them 
comes  to  be  written,  this  particular  species  of  mis 
fortune  will  occupy  a  prominent  place  in  it.  It  en 
ables  a  man  to  command  some  of  the  luxuries  of 
life,  but  few  or  none  of  its  comforts.  He  feels  the 
ability  to  work,  and  recognizes,  in  the  abstract, 
that  work  would  better  his  condition,  but  he  is  re 
luctant  to  break  with  the  traditions  of  gentility, 
and  to  admit  what  he  would  call  the  tradesman's 
spirit  ;  and  besides,  among  the  many  things  which 
he  knows  he  could  do,  it  is  difficult  to  decide  which 
would  be  best  worth  doing.  Meanwhile  there  is  the 
club,  and  the  social  whirligig  continually  revolving, 
and  the  human  vis  inertia — emphasized,  very  likely, 
by  a  temperamental  disposition  to  indolence — and 
it  is  really  no  wonder  that  these  poor  fellows  never 
come  to  any  thing.  Nor  is  their  fate  always  merely 
relative ;  occasionally  their  little  income  gets 
raided,  or  they  fall  into  some  snare  or  other,  and 
then  they  are  forlorn  indeed.  They  hang  on  by 
hook  or  by  crook,  as  long  as  they  can  ;  and  at  last 
disappear,  and  no  one  asks  after  them,  for  fear 
of  hearing  something  unpleasant. 


TALBOT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS.  63 

•  Frank  Cunliffe  had  not  got  beyond  the  negative 
stage.  Perhaps  he  was  a  trifle  to  windward  even 
of  that.  He  had  had  a  dramatic  instinct  in  him 
from  a  boy,  and  had  several  times  seriously  consid 
ered  the  question  of  going  on  the  stage.  He  was 
sure  that  he  would  have  made  a  great  success  of  it; 
and  possibly  he  might  have  trained  himself  into  a 
tolerable  actor.  He  had  a  good  figure  and  pres 
ence  ;  he  was  handsome  enough,  and  his  voice  was 
full  and  clear,  and  agreeably  modulated  for  an 
American.  He  knew  a  great  many  actors,  and 
several  actresses,  and  was  a  regular  first-nighter  at 
all  the  theaters  ;  but,  somehow,  he  never  entered 
the  profession,  and  he  had  the  good  sense  not  to 
indulge  in  amateur  theatricals.  One  thing  he  did 
do.  After  some  years,  he  wrote,  more  for  a  lark 
than  in  earnest,  a  criticism  of  a  play  that  had  just 
been  produced,  and  sent  it  to  a  daily  paper.  The 
regular  dramatic  critic  of  this  paper  happened  on 
that  day  to  be  suffering  from  an  attack  of  spiritus 
fnimenti  and  had  not  come  to  time  with  his  copy  ; 
the  editor  printed  Cunliffe's,  had  an  interview  with 
him,  and  offered  him  a  regular  engagement.  Cun 
liffe  hemmed  and  hah'd,  and  finally  accepted  it 
on  condition  that  his  secret  should  be  kept.  So  he 
wrote  under  an  assumed  name,  and  every  body  for 
whose  sake  he  had  assumed  it  knew  the  secret  im 
mediately  ;  the  public  read  the  criticisms,  which 
were  clever,  and  neither  knew  nor  cared  who  "  Faust, 
Jr.,"  was.  Cunliffe's  salary  enabled  him  to  smoke 


64  T ALB  Or  AND  HIS  FXIENDS. 

twenty-dollar  cigars,  instead  of  fifteen-dollar  ones, 
as  heretofore. 

However,  he  became  something  of  a  power  in  the 
New  York  theatrical  world,  and  at  length  an  oppor 
tunity  occurred  to  put  this  power  to  some  practical 
use.  Cunliffe  had  a  young  relative — a  second 
cousin  once  removed,  or  something  of  that  kind — 
who  .possessed  an  unusually  good  contralto  voice, 
and  had  learned  how  to  use  it.'  Though  winning 
to  the  ear,  this  young  lady  was  not  correspondingly 
attractive  to  the  eye.  She  had  light  hair,  a  dull 
complexion,  gray  eyes,  and  irregular  features. 
She  was  flat-chested  and  could  not  walk  gracefully. 
She  was  an  orphan,  poor,  and  ambitious.  She 
wrote  a  letter  to  Cunliffe,  and  asked  him  to  help 
her  to  get  an  engagement  to  sing  in  concert. 

Cunliffe  had  never  seen  her.  He  called  on  her, 
and  at  the  first  glimpse  of  her  was  completely  dis 
couraged.  She  chatted  with  him  awhile,  and  he 
discovered  that  she  was  entertaining  and  original, 
She  sat  down  at  her  piano  and  sang  to  him.  and  he 
told  her  to  put  on  her  bonnet  and  come  with  him 
to  the  impresario's. 

The  emotional  gamut  through  which  the  imprer 
sario  passed  was  a  repetition  of  Cunliffe's  experi 
ence.  When  the  girl  had  sung  to  him,  he  engaged 
her  at  a  higher  salary  than  she  or  her  cousin  had 
anticipated  :  and  then  he  set  himself  to  solve  the 
problem  of  making  her  (for  public  purposes)  better 
looking. 

Her  head  was  square  and  rather  too  large,  but  it 


TALBOT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS.  65 

was  full  of  solid  sense,  and  instead  of  being 
offended  at  the  impresario's  criticisms  of  her  per 
sonal  appearance,  she  received  them  cordially  and 
archly,  and  entered  into  his  suggestions  and  per 
plexities  with  earnest  and  helpful  sympathy.  As 
for  her  figure,  that  was  an  easy  matter.  Any  thing 
can  be  made  of  a  figure,  provided  it  is  not  too  fat 
to  begin  with — as  this  young  lady's  was  not.  "  We 
will  assume  that  you  are  provided  with  a  perfect 
figure,"  said  the  impresario,  "  but  now  for  your 
face  !  "  "  Ah  !  that  will  tax  your  magic,"  remarked 
the  lady,  with  kindly  compassion  :  "  but  at  any 
rate  I  can  have  a  wig."  "  The  hair  will  not  be 
impossible,"  the  impresario  replied  :  "  and  when 
you  have  your  new  complexion,  I  do  not  despair  of 
your  eyes — with  eyebrows,  of  course.  But  your 
nose  and  mouth — they  are  really — in  fact  they 
are "  The  lady  laughed,  showing  a  row  of  ex 
cellent  teeth,  and  interrupted  him  :  "  They  are 
terrible,  I  know  ;  but  hear  me  sing  again  !  "  With 
that  she  opened  her  irremediable  mouth  and  sent 
forth  from  it  a  flood  of  music  so  powerful,  so  cap 
tivating,  and  withal  so  afire  with  passion— .a  passion 
that  she  had  not  betrayed  in  her  previous  efforts — 
that  both  the  impresario  and  Cunliffe  were  star^ 
tied  and  delighted.  It  was  only  a  bar  or  two,  and 
then  she  stopped.  "  Did  you  see  my  nose  then  ?  " 
"  I  forgot  all  about  it."  "  Then  perhaps  the  audi, 
ence  will  too."  And  so  it  proved.  Miss  Kitty 
Clive  (such  was  the  stage  name  which  she  chose  to 
assume,  and  under  which  she  will  figure  in  this  his- 


66  TALBOT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 

tory)  became  very  popular  with  the  public,  who 
never  suspected  that  she  was  physically  a  fright. 
And  truly  she  did  not  look  so,  behind  the  foot 
lights,  with  the  aids  of  art,  music,  and  excitement. 
She  had  a  deep  nature,  too,  and  somehow  that  told. 
Cunliffe  was  immensely  proud  of  his  protegee,  as 
he  liked  to  call  her.  And  she  was  grateful  to 
him,  a  rare  thing  in  women,  who  are  apt  to  hate 
those  from  whom  they  have  received  practical 
benefits. 

Now  when  Miss  Kitty  Clive  had  sung  for  six 
months  under  the  impresario  who  first  secured  her 
services,  she  received  an  offer  from  another  man 
ager,  with  a  promise  of  double  her  then  salary.  She 
accepted  it,  but  was  informed  by  her  original  pro 
prietor  that  she  was  bound  to  him,  and  that  he 
would  not  let  her  go.  She  told  him  that  she  would 
consent  to  remain  with  him  if  he  would  pay  her  the 
sum  that  was  tendered  by  his  rival  ;  he  refused  ; 
and  on  her  attempting  to  carry  out  her  purpose,  he 
applied  for  and  obtained  an  injunction  restraining 
her  from  singing  in  any  establishment  but  his 
own. 

In  this  dilemma,  she  turned  for  assistance  to  her 
cousin  Frank  :  and  he,  upon  learning  the  state  of 
affairs,  applied  to  the  best  lawyer  he  knew  of  to 
plead  her  case.  This  lawyer  happened  to  be  Gil 
bert  Cowran,  whom  Cunliffe  was  already  slightly 
acquainted  with  from  having  met  him  at  the  club. 
His  visits  to  the  office,  during  the  progress  of  the 
case  (which  was  carried  to  a  successful  issue  for 


TALBOT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS.  67 

Miss  Kitty  Clive),  were  the  means  of  making  known 
to  him  Mr.  John  Talbot,  and  various  circumstances 
served  to  cement  their  friendship.  Their  mutual 
desire  to  see  more  of  each  other  led  Talbot,  after 
some  hesitation,  to  ask  Cunliffe  to  spend  an  even 
ing  at  his  house.  Cunliffe  came,  and  afterward 
came  again,  bringing  Kitty  Clive  with  him.  Talbot, 
on  his  side,  invited  Miss  Betty  Claverhouse  ;  old 
Mrs.  Talbot  acted  as  duenna  for  the  party  ;  Kitty 
sang,  Betty  chatted,  and  they  had  a  lovely  evening. 
This  event  occurred  on  a  Sunday,  that  being  the 
only  day  of  the  week  on  which  Kitty  had  her  liberty. 
A  few  Sundays  later,  the  meeting  was  repeated, 
with  even  more  agreeable  results,  and  by  degrees 
it  became  a  custom  with  these  good  young  people 
to  assemble  at  Talbot's  rooms  on  the  coming  of 
each  Sabbath.  On  these  occasions  they  were  a 
close  corporation  ;  no  outsiders  were  admitted.  It 
would  have  been  even  nicer,  perhaps,  if  Kitty  and 
Frank  had  been  lovers,  as  well  as  John  and  Betty. 
But  although  Frank  was  very  fond  of  his  cousin, 
and  proud  of  her  talents,  he  was  not  the  sort  of 
man  to  feel  a  passion  for  her,  being  a  great  wor 
shiper  of  physical  beauty,  for  one  thing,  and 
probably  unable  to  appreciate  at  their  true  value 
the  really  great  qualities  of  soul  that  Kitty  pos 
sessed.  Besides,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  long 
before  that  marriage  was  not  one  of  the  luxuries  in 
which  he  could  afford  to  indulge  :  for  he  would  not 
marry  a  poor  woman,  and  he  was  too  poor  to 
marry  a  rich  one.  Meanwhile  John  and  Betty  did 


68  TALBOT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 

their  best  to  be   in  love  enough  for  all  four,  and 
succeeded  very  fairly. 

About  a  month  before  our  story  opens,  however, 
a  serious  catastrophe  occurred  to  one  of  the  num 
ber  of  the  quartette,  which  threw  a  gloom  over 
them  all.  Frank  Cunliffe  received  a  "  pointer " 
direct  from  headquarters  ;  it  was  the  opportunity 
of  a  lifetime  ;  an  ample  fortune  was  to  be  made  for 
an  outlay  of  twenty  thousand  dollars.  Frank  re 
sisted,  called  all  his  worldly  wisdom  and  experi 
ence  to  his  aid,  told  himself  that  he  was  too  old  a 
bird  to  be  caught  with  that  chaff,  overcame  the 
temptation,  went  to  bed,  dreamed  of  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  went  down  to  a  broker's  in  the 
morning,  put  up  his  margins,  and  in  three  days 
thereafter  was  left  with  but  five  thousand  dollars 
in  the  world.  That  is  the  sort  of  man  he  was,  and 
the  sort  of  luck  he  had. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CUNLIFF'S  TROUBLES. 

THAT  night  Cunliffe  did  not  feel  in  spirits  for 
the  club,  so  he  went  to  the  theater  and  heard 
Kitty  sing.  She  was  in  good  voice,  and  looked  as 
tonishingly  well.  She  recognized  Frank  in  the  audi 
ence,  and  sang  to  him.  The  music  soothed  and 
consoled  him  for  the  time  being.  After  the  perfor 
mance  he  went  round  to  the  stage  door,  and  when 
Kitty  came  out  he  offered  her  his  arm,  and  they 
walked  through  the  snow  together  to  her  lodgings. 

On  the  way  he  told  her  what  had  happened. 

Kitty  listened  to  him  without  making  any  com 
ment,  but  with  a  manner,  and  a  closeness  of  atten 
tion  which  were  in  themselves  better  than  most 
kinds  of  expressed  sympathy  and  consolation. 
This  was  a  way  she  had.  After  the  story  was 
told,  she  asked  him  whether  the  person  who  gave 
him  the  "  pointer  "  had  intended  to  deceive  him. 

"  Not  at  all,"  was  the  reply.  "  He  was  all  right. 
He  lost  himself,  but  he  could  afford  it.  We  were 
both  of  us  fooled,  that's  all." 

"  Who  fooled  you  ?" 

"  Nobody  can   tell   that.     It  was  a  deal ;  some 


7°  CUNLIFFE'S   TROUBLE. 

one  of  the  big  men  selling  to  and  buying  from  him 
self — the  old  story  in  short.  He  may  have  had  a 
far-reaching  purpose  in  doing  it,  or  he  may  have 
wanted  to  give  the  boys  a  whirl,  as  they  call  it.  At 
all  events,  he  has  whirled  me  out  of  the  world  I 
have  lived  in,  and  into  I  don't  know  what— the 
income  of  five  thousand  dollars  at  six  per  cent.  !  " 
"  Twenty  thousand  dollars,  was  it  ?  " 
"  Never  mind  ;  the  milk  is  spilt,  and  the  fat  is  in 
the  fire  ;  but  such  things  happen  every  day.  It 
serves  me  right,  Kitty,  for  being  a  fool  with  my 
eyes  open.  Let's  talk  of  something  else.  You 
were  great  this  evening  !  " 

"  I  am  making  a  great  deal  of  money,  Frank  ; 
and  I  owe  it  all  to  you." 

"  To  me  !  Did  I  sing  for  you  ?  You  are  a  good 
girl,  and  you  will  make  your  way.  I  only  hope  you 
won't  go  and  marry  some  idiot  !  " 

Kitty  laughed.  "  Blessed  be  my  ugliness.  I 
couldn't  do  it  even  if  I  wanted  to." 

"  You're  not  ugly.  I'd  rather  have  you  as  you 
are  than  the  handsomest  girl  in  New  York.  Besides 
you  look  a  hundred  per  cent,  better  than  you  did 
when  you  began.  They  talk  against  the  stage  ;  but 
I  believe  that  it  is  the  best  thing  a  good  woman 
can  get  onto.  She's  independent,  she's  occupied, 
and  she's  in  the  midst  of  life." 

"  Why  don't  you  try  it,  Frank  ?  You  would  do 
well  and  be  happy." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  it's  much  too  late  to  think  of 
that.  If  I  had  begun  when  I  was  fourteen,  or  even 


CUNLIFFE'S   TROUBLE.  71 

twenty-one,  I  might  have  had  a  show  ;  but  I'm  too 
much  set  in  my  ways  to  be  licked  into  shape  now. 
If  I  had  a  voice,  like  yon,  it  would  be  different  ; 
but  to  be  an  actor — to  identify  myself  with  the 
characters  of  imaginary  people — my  joints  have 
grown  too  stiff  !  Besides,  I  have  some  vanity  left, 
God  knows  why  ;  and  I  couldn't  stand  having  the 
fellows  at  the  club  come  round  to  criticise  my 
debut.  No,  I  can't  get  out  of  the  hole  by  that 
route." 

A  short  silence  followed  this  statement. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Kitty  at  last,  "  that  the 
men  who  do  these  things  ought  to  be  punished  in 
some  way." 

"  What  men  do  you  mean,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  The  men  who  get  up  these  panics  on  the  street, 
and  ruin  people." 

"  Oh,  if  a  fellow  jumps  into  the  lion's  den,  it's 
his  own  fault  if  he  gets  scratched.  He  wasn't 
obliged  to  go  there.  The  very  man  who  cleaned 
me  out  has  probably  suffered  himself  in  the  same 
way  in  the  past,  and  now  he  is  having  his  innings. 
I  suffer  because  I  happen  to  be  in  the  way.  It's 
give  and  take — the  way  of  the  world  !  " 

"  But  why  should  you  suffer  ?  You  had  not  in 
jured  this  man,  and  he  has  no  right  to  harm  inno 
cent  people  because  somebody  who  was  not  inno 
cent  harmed  him." 

"That's  abstract  morality,  but  it's  not  human 
nature.  The  way  of  Wall  Street  is  the  same  prin 
ciple  they  go  on  in  college.  Every  Sophomore 


7*  CUNLIFFES  TROUBLE. 

class  hazes  the  Freshmen.  The  Freshmen  have 
never  done  the  Sophomores  any  harm  ;  but  the 
Sophomores,  when  they  were  Freshmen,  were 
hazed  by  the  class  that  were  Sophomores  then  ;  and 
they  pay  off  their  scores  in  that  way." 

"  It  is  a  senseless  way  ;  there  is  no  justice  in  it. 
If  a  man  has  been  unfairly  dealt  with,  and  knows 
by  experience  what  it  is,  there  is  all  the  more  rea 
son  why  he  should  not  deal  unfairly  with  others. 
If  a  man  strikes  you,  I  can  understand  that  you 
should  strike  him  back  ;  but  I  don't  understand 
why  you  should  strike  somebody  else." 

"  I  agree  with  your  arguments,"  said  Frank, 
laughing,  "  and  all  I  can  say  is  that  life  is  not 
transacted  in  accordance  with  syllogisms.  Mean 
while,  you  needn't  be  at  all  uneasy  about  me, 
Kitty.  I  have  five  thousand  dollars,  and  that  will 
last  me  five  years,  with  proper  economy.  No  one 
but  you  knows  I've  been  hit.  In  five  years  any 
thing  may  happen — an  uncle  in  California  for  in 
stance  !  And  now  here  we  are  at  your  house.  I 
wish  it  was  Sunday  ;  we  could  go  'round  to  Tal- 
bot's." 

"  I  should  like  to  do  something,"  said  Kitty, 
giving  him  her  hand. 

"  I  want  nothing  better  than  to  hear  you  sing 
once  in  a  while,"  he  replied  ;  and  with  that  they 
parted. 

The  next  few  weeks  were  busy  ones  for  Frank 
Cunliffe,  who  was  obliged  to  devise  some  plan  of 
carrying  on  life  for  the  future.  His  five  thousand 


CUNLIFFE'S    TROUBLE.  73 

dollars  were  invested  in  mortgages  on  real  estate  and 
brought  ten  per  cent,  interest  ;  but  although  many 
gentlemen  can  subsist  on  five  hundred  per  annum, 
Cunliffe  had  never  learned  the  art.  His  salary  as 
dramatic  critic  amounted  to  about  three  hundred 
dollars.  If  he  could,  from  any  source,  get  an 
annual  stipend  of  eight  hundred  or  a  thousand 
dollars  more,  he  might  scrape  along.  As  to  leav 
ing  New  York,  and  burying  himself  in  the  country, 
he  did  not  contemplate  it  ;  it  would  be  burial  indeed. 
But,  again,  to  live  in  New  York  meant  to  live 
in  and  with  the  club  ;  and  the  dues  of 
that  association  would  make  a  terrible  hole 
in  his  income.  The  divisor  was  too  big  for  the 
dividend.  He  turned  the  problem  over  and  over 
and  over  in  his  mind,  though  he  knew  before 
hand  that  a  solution  was  impossible.  He  began 
to  feel  despondent,  and  the  chance  word  that 
Kitty  let  fall— that  the  man  who  had  done  him 
this  injury  ought  to  be  punished — recurred  to  his 
memory.  He  knew,  or  thought  he  knew,  who  that 
man  was.  But  how  could  he  be  punished  ?  After 
all,  it  would  be  just  as  well  if  he  could  be  induced  to 
refund  the  twenty  thousand  dollars.  Suppose  Cun 
liffe  were  to  walk  into  the  great  financier's  office, 
state  his  case,  and  request  him  to  write  a  check  for 
the  amount  ?  Why  not  ?  What  was  twenty 
thousand  dollars  to  a  man  like  Golding  ?  Why 
should  he  not  hand  over  the  check  and  dismiss  the 
applicant  with  his  blessing,  and  an  injunction  to 
let  this  be  a  warning  to  him  never  to  meddle  with 


74  CUNLIFFE  S   TROUBLE. 

Wall  Street  again  ?  Cunliffe  laughed  aloud  at  the 
grotesque  flights  of  his  own  imagination. 

Some  time  passed,  therefore,  before  he  again 
felt  in  the  mood  to  meet  the  little  Sunday  circle  at 
Talbot's.  But  at  length  he  sent  a  note  to  Kitty, 
to  say  that  he  would  call  for  her  that  evening,  and  he 
found  her  waiting  for  him  when  he  arrived.  They 
had  not  met  since  their  conversation  about  his 
calamity. 

"  Sit  down  a  moment  while  I  put  on  my  bonnet," 
she  said,  throwing  aside  a  copy  of  a  newspaper 
which  she  had  been  reading,  and  greeting  him  with 
a  warm  clasp  of  the  hand.  u  Let  me  look  at  you — 
are  you  sad  or  merry  ?  You  are  thinner  and 
paler ;  you  have  been  troubled.  My  poor  boy  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  begun  to  starve  yet,"  returned 
Cunliffe,  in  the  ironic  tone  that  he  had  fallen  into 
the  habit  of  using,  when  referring  to  himself. 
"  My  friends  continue  to  invite  me  to  dinner, 
because  they  don't  know  that  I  am  four-fifths 
poorer  than  I  used  to  be." 

"  Are  your  club  dues  paid  ?  " 

"  They  won't  be  called  for  until  next  January, 
and  then  I  can  pretend  forgetfulness  for  a  month 
or  two.  By  that  time  I  may  get  a  chancetto  rob  or 
murder  some  one  and  devote  the  proceeds  to  the 
charitable  purpose  of  paying  them." 

u  Do  you  know,  Frank,"  she  said,  looking 
thoughtfully  at  him,  "  I  have  a  presentiment  that 
there  is  going  to  be  a  change  in  your  luck — that 
something  will  happen  to  put  you  back  where  you 


CUNLIFFE'S    TROUBLE.  75 

were  before  ?  You  were  joking  about  an  uncle  in 
California  the  other  day  ;  why  might  not  something 
of  the  sort  come  true  ?  You  have  done  nothing  to 
deserve  this  trouble  ?  " 

"  If  my  uncle  in  California  is  going  to  leave  me 
a  fortune  before  next  quarter  day,  it  is  high  time 
that  he  was  born  ;  I  have  yet  to  learn,  at  least,  that 
that  auspicious  event  has  occurred.  Come,  my 
dear,  don't  let  us  talk  nonsense.  I  have  had  pre 
sentiments,  too  ;  and  perhaps  I  have  been  tempted 
to  turn  them  into  realities.  Time  will  show  ; 
meanwhile,  go  and  put  on  your  bonnet,  like  a  good 
girl.  The  Talbots  will  be  expecting  us.  I  wonder 
what  these  good  people  would  say  if  they  knew  they 
were  entertaining  a  pauper.  Would  they  kick  me 
out? 

Kitty  sighed.  "I  don't  blame  you  for  being 
cynical,  Frank,"  she  said  ;  "  but  you  needn't  mis 
trust  John  Talbot.  He  is  a  good  fellow.  You 
have  friends,  you  know.  You  will  always  have — 
friends  who  would  do  any  thing  for  you." 

She  disappeared  into  her  dressing-room,  and 
Cunliffe  took  up  the  newspaper  and  ran  his  eye 
over  it  till  she  returned,  dressed  for  the  street.  By 
that  time  he  had  regained  his  equanimity  and  good 
humor.  Being  no  longer  thus  preoccupied,  he 
fancied  he  perceived  a  subdued  excitement  in  Kit 
ty's  manner  that  he  had  not  had  leisure  to  notice 
before.  Her  gray  eyes  looked  dark  and  bright. 

"  How  well  that  bonnet  becomes  you,  Kitty,"  he 
said.  "  What  a  fine  girl  you  are,  anyhow  !  I  de- 


76  CUXLIFFES   TROUBLE. 

clare,  I'm  proud  to  be  on  the  street  with  you.  Some 
fellow  will  be  coming  in  and  stealing  you  away 
from  me  before  long  !  " 

"  Is  that  prophecy  accidental  or  premeditated  ? " 
she  asked,  with  a  peculiar  smile. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  was  just  going  to  tell  you  something, 
and  it  came  in  so  aptly.  The  fact  is — I  really  have 
got  an  admirer  at  last  !  " 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  expected  me  to  be  sur 
prised.  Don't  I  tell  you  that  I've  been  expecting 
it  ever  since  you  went  on  ?  Who  is  he  ?  I  want  to 
kill  him  !  " 

"  Kill  him  for  thinking  me  nice  ?  That's  severe 
on  him — and  me  !  " 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  The  impertinent 
young  whipper-snapper  !  I  hope  you  boxed  his 
ears,  at  least  !  " 

"  He  isn't  the  kind  of  man  to  be  boxed  on  the 
ear,"  she  rejoined,  laughing.  "  Nobody  would  ever 
think  of  such  a  thing." 

"  Oh,  he  is  fascinating,  is  he  ?  Worse  and 
worse  !  " 

u  He  is  a  very  agreeable  and  intellectual  gentle 
man." 

"  The  deuce  !     Is  he  anyone  I  know  ?  " 

"  I  think  not.  He  has  been  an  officer  of  the  reg 
ular  army — General  Stuart  Weymouth." 

"  A  general  in  the  regular  army  !  He  can  be  no 
chicken,  then  !  " 


CUNLIFFES    TROUBLE.  77 

"  No,  not  exactly.  He  is  about  fifty-five,  I  sup 
pose." 

"  Oh  !     Is  he  wealthy  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  asked  him  ;  but  I  imagine  he  is  not. 
He  was  wounded  in  the  war,  and  is  living  on  half- 
pay,  or  a  pension,  or  whatever  it  is  they  give  them." 

"  A  battle-scarred  veteran,  eh  ?     Is  he  fine-look 


ing  ? 


"  He  is  tall  and  soldierly-looking,  with  dark  eyes 
and  a  gray  mustache.  He  is  rather  eccentric  ;  he 
is  entirely  alone  in  the  world,  he  says,  and  knows 
very  few  people.  He  lives  in  a  couple  of  rooms  in 
a  lodging-house  on  Irving  Place.  But  years  ago 
he  used  to  be  quite  a  prominent  personage.  He  has 
met  all  the  distinguished  people  of  the  day.  He 
used  to  be  acquainted  with  Mr.  Golding,  and  Mr. 
Golding  offered  him  fifty  thousand  a  year  to  let  his 
name  be  used  as  president  of  a  company.  But  I 
will  tell  you  the  rest  some  other  time.  Here  we 
are  at  the  Talbots'  !  " 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A     CUP     OF      TEA. 

MISS  BETTY  CLAVERHOUSE  had  already 
arrived,  and  was  chatting  in  her  customary 
animated  style  with  old  Mrs.  Talbot,  while  John  sat 
by  giving  the  finishing  touches  to  a  carved  wooden 
bracket  that  he  had  been  making.  Mrs.  Talbot  was 
not  altogether  convinced  whether  it  was  right  for 
John  to  do  any  thing  of  that  kind  on  Sunday.  But 
John  had  explained  to  her  that  he  was  not  paid  for 
doing  it  ;  that,  so  far  as  it  was  ornamental,  it  was 
of  no  use,  and  that  therefore,  though  he  worked 
upon  it,  it  was  not  working  in  the  sense  intended 
by  the  Mosaic  law.  "  It  isn't  I  that  am  to  blame, 
mother,"  he  added,  "  it's  the  dictionary,  which 
makes  me  say  I  am  *  working  '  when  in  fact  I  am 
only  improving  my  mind  and  aesthetic  taste.  You 
would  not  have  me  keep  my  hands  idle,  would  you  ? 
You  know  what  Dr.  Watts  says  !  " 

"  I  sometimes  think  you  are  not  in  earnest, 
John,"  the  old  lady  said,  looking  at  him  through 
her  spectacles  with  a  fond  but  doubtful  expression. 

"  Ask  Betty  ;  she  knows,"  he  replied.  "  I  told 
her  the  other  day  that  I  thought  she  was  a  nice 


A    CUP   OF    TEA.  79 

girl,  and  she  believed   I  was  in  earnest  then  and 
there — didn't  you,  Bet  ? " 

Bettie  uplifted  her  nose  and  laughed. 

"  And  yet  that  was  on  a  Sunday  ;  and  it  was 
much  harder  work  than  this,"  he  rejoined,  holding 
the  bracket  up  to  the  light  and  regarding  it  with 
critical  approval.  "  You  would  never  believe, 
mother,  what  hard  work  it  is  to  make  Betty  believe 
she  is  nice  !  " 

"  I  shall  never  be  as  nice  as  I  ought  to  be— since 
you  think  I'm  nice,"  said  Betty,  finishing  her  laugh 
with  a  sigh. 

"  There  !  see  what  I  told  you  !  Well,  very  likely 
I  am  the  victim  of  a  delusion,  and  Bettie  is  a  sel 
fish,  designing,  ill-tempered  hussy  !  What  does  an 
innocent  boy  like  me  know  about  women  ?  Betty, 
did  you  finish  that  copying  you  had  to  do  to-day  ?" 

"  Yes,  John,  every  word  of  it.  What  is  Mr.  Cow- 
ran  going  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Keep  it,  I  suppose,  as  a  souvenir  of  you.  By 
the  way,  I  have  long  felt  uneasy  about  that  man's 
attitude  toward  you.  I  suspect  him  of  being  my 
rival.  But  let  him  beware  !  I  am  appalling  when 
my  jealousy  is  aroused.  If  he  ever  ventures  to 
betray  his  passion  in  any  other  way  than  by  raising 
your  salary,  I  shall  give- him  a  month's  warning." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  !  And  where  would  your  bread 
and  butter  come  from  ?  " 

"  Ha  !  You  have  no  conception,  girl,  of  the 
depth  and  subtlety  of  my  schemes,"  said  John,  in 
his  deepest  bass  voice.  u  I  should  take  that  copy  of 


8o  A    CUP   OF  TEA. 

Mr.  Gelding's  private  papers  that  you  have  just 
finished  making,  put  them  in  my  pocket,  and  pay 
Mr.  Golding  a  call.  I  should  tell  him*  that  unless 
he  admitted  me  into  full  partnership  with  him  on 
the  spot,  those  secret  memoranda  should  be  pub 
lished  in  every  newspaper  in  this  continent.  Poor 
man  !  Methinks  I  see  him  cower  and  accede  !  " 

At  this  juncture  the  door-bell  rang  ;  and  John, 
putting  down  his  bracket,  and  leaving  the  two 
women  to  digest  his  pronunciamento  as  best  they 
might,  stalked  with  his  long  legs  into  the  hall,  and 
presently  reappeared  conducting  Kitty  Clive  and 
Frank  Cunliffe,  fresh  from  their  walk.  There  were 
cordial  greetings  all  round,  and  then  the  little  party 
drew  their  chairs  round  the  fire-place,  and  prepared 
to  enjoy  themselves. 

"  What  have  you  two  been  doing  with  yourselves 
this  month  past  ?  "  Talbot  asked.  "  Not  marrying 
each  other,  I  hope  !  " 

"  And  why  not,  pray  ?  "  Cunliffe  demanded. 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  Betty  and  I  want  you  and 
Miss  Clive  to  be  our  best  man  and  bridesmaid,  re 
spectively,  and  your  marriage  would  balk  our  de 
sign.  Besides,  we  shall  wish  to  have  some  young 
unmarried  people  about  us,  to  learn  from  our  ex- 
ample  how  an  ideal  marriage  should  be  carried 
on." 

"You  have  found  your  ideal,  then?"  said 
Kitty. 

"  There  is  one  wrinkle  in  the  rose-leaf — the  fu 
ture  Mrs.  Talbot's  nose.  I  have  a  misgiving  that 


A    CUP   OF  TEA.  8 1 

snub-noses  are  not  ideal.  But  I  have  consulted 
an  eminent  surgeon  on  the  subject,  and  he  informs 
me  that  by  making  an  incision  down  the  lady's 
nose,  removing  a  part  of  the  tissue,  and  inserting 
a  silver  cartilage,  it  can  be  transformed  into  an  Ara 
bian  aquiline.  It  is  a  great  comfort  to  think  of 
it." 

"  Why,  John,  I  am  sure,  when  it  came  to  the  point, 
you  would  not  be  so  barbarous  !  "  remonstrated  his 
mother.  "And  I  think  people  should  be  content 
with  the  features  the  Lord  gave  them — He 
knows  best." 

"  You  forget,  mother,  that  Betty's  feature  (to 
call  it  that)  was  brought  to  its  present  altitude,  not 
by  the  Creator's  fiat,  but  by  holding  it  against  the 
grindstone.  Her  circumstances,  heretofore,  have 
been  arduous  and  lowly.  But  now  that  she  is 
about  to  be  uplifted,  as  my  wife,  to  aristocratic 
regions,  it  is  right  and  proper  that  her  nose  should 
cease  to  be  a  reminder  of  her  humbler  state." 

"  Let  my  nose  alone  !  "  exclaimed  Betty  indig 
nantly.  "  I'm  sure  it's  a  great  deal  more  likely  to 
be  held  to  the  grindstone  after  our  marriage  than 
before  !  " 

"  Have  I  not  told  you  that  I  am  about  to  become 
Mr.  Golding's  partner  !  "  returned  John,  with  a 
superb  gesture.  "Do  you  imagine  that  there  are 
any  grindstones— or  snub  noses— about  his  prem 
ises  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Golding's  partner  !  What  are  you  talking 
about  ?  "  cried  Cunliffe. 


82  A    CUP    OF    Tl.A. 

"  It's  only  some  more  of  his  nonsense,"  said 
Betty.  "  I  was  given  some  of  Mr.  Golding's  se 
cret  papers  to  copy  at  the  office,  and  - — 

"  Betty,  before  you  monopolize  all  the  conver 
sation,  let  me  remind  you  that  the  tea  is  still  in  the 
caddy,"  Talbot  interposed.  "  I  like  my  wives  to  be 
not  only  aquiline,  but  active  in  the  performance 
of  domestic  amenities.  Run  and  see  if  the  kettle 
boils." 

"  I  will  help  you,  Betty,"  said  Kitty  Clive,  ris 
ing.  "  I  know  a  new  way  of  making  tea — a  secret  of 
the  mandarins' — and  since  you  are  to  be  married, 
I'll  teach  it  to  you."  So  the  two  young  women 
went  out  together. 

"  I  wasn't  aware  that  Cowran  did  business  for 
Golding  now,"  Cunliffe  remarked.  "  Has  that 
quarrel  of  theirs  been  made  up  ?  " 

"  No,  and  I  guess  it  won't  be,"  Talbot  replied. 
"  This  is  an  old  affair — dating  back  to  before  the 
epoch  of  the  quarrel,  in  fact." 

"  I  see  !  Golding  had  deposited  some  of  his 
private  records  with  Cowran,  and  forgot  all  about 
it.  But  will  Cowran  use  them  against  him  ?  " 

"  I  should  rather  suppose  that  he  meant  to  re 
turn  them,  and  has  had  the  copies  made  for  his 
own  personal  satisfaction  or  protection.  It's  not 
my  business  to  make  any  suppositions  on  the  sub 
ject,  though.  But  I  like  the  idea  of  Cowran's 
sending  them  back.  It's  as  much  as  to  say,  '  I 
might  get  even  with  you  if  I  chose,  but  I  won't  con 
descend  to  it.'  " 


A    CUP    OF  TEA.  83 

"  The  papers  are  compromising,  then  ?  " 

"  Not  in  a  criminal  sense,  of  course  ;  but  Gold- 
ing  would  wish  to  retain  them  for  the  same  reason 
that  a  general  in  a  campaign  wishes  to  keep  his 
strategic  memoranda  out  of  the  enemy's  hands. 
They  would  give  him  away." 

"  What  sort  of  a  fellow  do  you  take  Golding  to 
be?" 

"  Oh,  well,  he's  a  sort  of  ogre  ;  but  I  admire  him. 
He  is  alive  ;  and  he  has  communicated  his  life  to 
every  dollar  of  his  two  hundred  millions.  There 
is  no  rubbish  in  his  workshop.  He  conducts  his 
operations  very  much  as  a  mathematician  performs 
his  calculations  ;  the  experiment — the  abstraction — 
is  all  he  cares  for.  He  might  starve  a  whole  town 
to  death  for  the  sake  of  carrying  out  a  combina 
tion,  but  in  spite  of  that  I  believe  that  the  broad 
issue  of  his  doings  is  beneficial  to  civilization.  You 
can't  estimate  him  as  you  would  other  men  ;  he  is  a 
genius  ;  he  is  like  nature  ;  he  has  his  destructive 
winters,  but  by  and  by  you  find  that  they  are  fol 
lowed  by  spring  and  summer  and  autumn.  It  is 
impossible  for  a  really  great  man  not  to  do  more 
good  than  evil." 

"  He  may  be  a  genius  ;  but  he  is  the  evil  genius 
of  a  great  many  poor  devils,"  observed  Cunliffe. 
"  I  must  say,  if  I  were  Cowran  I  should  feel  dis 
posed  to  '  condescend  '  a  little  !" 

"  You  are  one  of  those  fellows  who  are  always 
imagining  that  they  would  be  worse  than  they  are 
if  they  were  some  other  fellow,"  returned  Talbot, 


84  A    CUP   OF   TEA. 

passing  his  hand  down  over  his  long  pale  face  and 
yawning  audibly.  "I  shall  be  asleep  if  those 
girls  don't  bring  that  mandarin  tea  pretty  quick. 
Hi !  Betty  !" 

"  Here  we  come,"  replied  Betty,  entering  with 
the  teapot  and  cups,  and  followed  by  Kitty  with  a 
tray  of  toast  and  cake.  "  Oh,  this  tea  is  good  !  I 
believe  Kitty  to  be  a  Chinese  in  disguise  !" 

"  I  have  heard  that  there  is  a  handsome  mandarin 
watching  about  the  stage-door  of  the  theater,"  said 
Talbot. 

"  You  have  been  misinformed,"  interposed  Cun- 
liffe  ;  "  it  is  an  American  general,  and  his  name  is 
Stuart  Weymouth.  He's  a  tall,  fine-looking, 
middle-aged  gentleman,  with  a  gray  mustache  and 
dark  eyes.  He  has  been  solitary  and  eccentric  for 
years,  but  Kitty's  voice  has  lured  him  from  retire 
ment.  He  once  refused  an  offer  of  fifty  thousand 
a  year  from  Golding  for  the  use  of  his  name  to 
float  a  company.  That's  as  far  as  I've  heard  yet. 
Kitty,  tell  us  the  rest !  How  did  he  get  introduced 
to  you  ?" 

"  There  was  nothing  particularly  romantic 
about  that  part  of  it,"  Kitty  replied.  "  He  made 
himself  known  to  the  manager,  and  asked  him  to 
present  him.  The  manager  asked  my  permission, 
and  I  gave  it.  I  received  General  Weymouth  in 
the  green-room.  He  told  me  that  he  came  to  the 
theater  accidentally  six  weeks  before.  Music  was 
the  only  enjoyment  he  had  left  in  the  world,  and  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  attending  the  operas  and  con- 


A   CUP   OF  TEA.  85 

certs  at  at  the  Academy  of  Music  and  Metropoli 
tan  ;  but  it  was  unusual  for  him  to  go  to  any  of  the 
minor  places.  However,  he  said  that  after  hearing 
me  on  that  first  occasion  he  had  not  missed  a 
single  performance  since.  He  said  there  was  a 
quality  in  my  voice  that  attracted  him  more  than 
any  other  voice  he  had  heard.  At  first  he  had  no 
intention  of  making  my  personal  acquaintance  ; 
but  he  had  finally  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there 
must  be  something  in  me  that  corresponded  to  my 
voice,  and  that  if  he  neglected  to  get  an  introduction 
to  me  he  would  regret  it  the  rest  of  his  life,  and  he 
was  kind  enough  to  add  that  he  was  now  assured 
that  his  intuition  had  not  misled  him,  and  begged 
I  would  regard  him  thenceforth  as  a  sincere  ad 
mirer  and  faithful  friend." 

"  Sir  Charles  Grandison  !"  said  Talbot. 

"  But  that  isn't  all,"  exclaimed  Frank  Cunliffe. 
"  He  offered  to  make  you  Mrs.  General  Wey- 
mouth,  didn't  he  ?  " 

"  If  he  did,"  replied  Kitty,  quietly,  "  I  don't 
see  why  I  should  speak  about  it.  He  is  a  gen 
tleman,  and  I  am  not  going  to  make  game  of 
him." 

"  I  remember  him  now,"  said  Talbot.  "  I  have 
heard  Golding  speak  of  him.  He  had  a  good  deal 
of  influence,  social  and  political,  at  one  time.  But 
something  seemed  to  happen  to  him,  and  he  dis 
appeared.  I  guess  he  was  generally  believed  to 
be  dead.  I  don't  suppose  his  name  would  bring 
fifty  thousand  a  year  now." 


86  A   CUP   OF    TEA. 

"  Perhaps  he  had  a  '  pull  '  on  Golding,"  Cun- 
liffe  suggested. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  that,"  said  Talbot. 

"  If  you  mean  that  the  fifty  thousand  dollars  was 
a  bribe  to  him  to  keep  quiet  about  something 
injurious  to  Mr.  Golding,  his  not  accepting  it 
would  mean  that  he  did  not  intend  to  keep  quiet. 
But  he  has  revealed  nothing  ;  so  it  is  unlikely  that 
he  had  any  thing  to  reveal."  This  was  from;  Kitty. 

"  Did  he  talk  much  to  you  about  Golding  ? " 
Cunliffe  asked. 

"  Not  very  much.  He  spoke  of  him  in  a  friendly 
way.  He  said  something  about  renewing  their 
acquaintance." 

"  There  is  a  mystery  about  him  !  "  Cunliffe 
declared. 

"  I  don't  like  mysterious  people,  do  you  ?  "  said 
Miss  Betty  Claverhouse.  "I  like  people  one 
knows  all  about,  like— like  John  !  " 

"  Think  you  to  fathom  me,  slight  girl  ?  "  retorted 
her  lover.  "  I  am  an  abyss  !  Hasten  to  fill  me 
with  another  stoup  of  tea  !  "  This  restored  the 
easy  tone  of  the  conversation,  but  it  thenceforth 
contained  nothing  important  to  this  history. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A      SLEIGH-RIDE. 

ANOTHER  fall  of  snow,  coming  at  this  time^ 
made  capital  sleighing  in  Central  Park,  and 
fashionable  New  York  hastened  to  take  advantage 
of  it.  The  air  was  cold,  but  there  was  no  wind, 
except  such  as  was  created  by  the  swift  movement 
of  the  sleighs.  The  sun  was  out  in  a  cloudless  sky, 
and  there  was  sparkle  and  exhilaration  every 
where.  The  soft  jingling  of  the  bells,  now  iyar,  now 
far,  but  always  audible,  sounded  a  fitting  accom 
paniment  to  the  dancing  of  the  blood  in  youthful 
veins.  Those  graceful  cutters,  that  were  gone 
before  you  could  utter  your  admiration,  contained 
many  happy  pairs  of  lovers,  who,  bundled  up  in 
soft  furs  and  buffalo  robes,  imagined  that  life 
would  glide  along  as  smoothly  as  the  sleigh — at 
least,  as  swiftly  !  The  horses  seemed  to  enjoy  the 
fun  as  much  as  the  lovers  ;  they  laid  back  their 
ears,  and  settled  low  down  on  their  flying  legs,  and 
the  white  track  slipped  away  beneath  them  like  the 
surface  of  a  cataract.  It  was  glorious  sport.  On 
the  lake  the  snow  had  been  swept  away,  and  the 
skaters  were  circling  and  wavering  in  inextricable 
convolutions.  The  boughs  of  the  trees,  so  long 
bare  of  foliage,  were  now  weighted  with  soft 


88  A    SLEIGH-RIDE. 

burdens  of  snow,  which  the  still  air  had  suffered  to 
remain  as  it  had  fallen.  Kemeys's  bronze  panther, 
crouching  for  her  spring  on  the  rock  that  overhangs 
the  drive,  seemed  to  have  just  thrust  her  terrible 
head  out  of  the  white  blanket  in  which  she  had 
been  biding  her  time.  Cleopatra's  Needle  stood 
slim  and  erect  on  its  bleak  mound,  like  a  soldier 
frozen  at  his  post  in  a  strange  land,  after  standing 
guard  for  twenty  centuries  on  the  banks  of  the 
mysterious  river,  beneath  the  scorching  suns  of 
Egypt. 

One  of  the  speediest  of  the  cutters  was  occupied 
by  two  gentlemen,  who  were  so  muffled  up  in  fur 
caps  and  collars  that  it  was  impossible  to  distin 
guish  their  features  ;  and  they,  on  their  side,  made 
no  attempt  to  recognize  any  among  the  flying 
crowd  of  sleighers.  The  larger  man  of  the  two  held 
the  reins,  and  kept  his  eyes  on  his  horse's  ears  ; 
but  this  occupation  did  not  prevent  him  from 
listening  to  what  the  other  was  saying,  and  occa 
sionally  interposing  some  remark  or  question  of  his 
own.  No  more  secure  place  for  a  private  and  con 
fidential  dialogue  could  have  been  found  than  the 
one  they  had  chosen  ;  with  all  fashionable  New 
York  around  them,  they  were  as  unknown  and  as 
unheard  as  if  they  had  been  on  the  lonely  summit 
of  Mount  Shasta  or  in  the  midst  of  the  barren 
deserts  of  Arizona. 

"  Your  report  of  his  conversation,"  said  the 
holder  of  the  reins,  "  though  it  certainly  doesn't 
conflict  with  the  theory  of  his  guilt,  does  very  little 


A    SLEIGH-RIDE.  89 

towards  clinching  the  proof  of  it.  Golding  has 
injured  him,  and  he  hates  Golding  for  it.  We 
knew  as  much  before  ;  and  there  are  probably  a 
hundred  men  in  New  York  to-day  of  whom  the 
same  is  true.  It  is  more  to  the  purpose  that  some 
of  his  expressions  indicated  a  willingness  to  con 
template  -violent  measures.  As  for  his  conduct 
when  you  confronted  him  with  the  '  personal '  in 
the  paper,  it  is  worth  taking  into  consideration, 
and  that  is  as  much  as  can  be  said  of  it.  It  was  a 
good  point,  and  I  am  sorry  it  didn't  effect  a  more 
definite  result,  one  way  or  the  other." 

"  It  is  also  to  be  considered  that  no  other  man 
has  appeared  whom  there  is  nearly  as  much  reason 
to  suspect  as  Cowran,"  remarked  the  other  occu 
pant  of  the  sleigh.  "  Nothing  in  his  record  or 
situation  is  inconsistent  with  the  theory.  Ought 
not  these  facts  to  carry  some  weight? " 

"  They  are  merely  negative.  On  the  other  hand, 
we  have  Cowran's  character  and  temper.  He  has 
the  name  of  being  a  bold  man,  one  who  fulfills  his 
engagements,  and  has  never  been  known  to  do  any 
underhand  work.  His  temper  is  warm,  and  when 
provoked  he  is  inclined  to  violence.  All  that 
doesn't  describe  the  sort  of  fellow  who  would  write 
a  series  of  anonymous  letters." 

"  But  the  letters  are  violent  enough,  surely  !  " 

"  In  their  expressions,  but  not  in  what  we  believe 
to  be  their  intention — which  is  an  important  dif 
ference.  They  threaten  Golding  with  death,  but 
they  do  so  only  with  the  design  of  extorting  money. 


90  A    SLF.IGII-RIDE. 

The  letter  which  was  received  in  answer  to  the 
second  *  personal  '  removes  all  doubt  on  that 
point.  Have  you  seen  it  ?  " 

"No  ;  I  have  only  heard  of  it." 

"  It  took  up  our  suggestion  as  to  a  provision  for 
his  wife  and  family  ;  and  after  a  lot  of  palaver, 
and  saying  that  he  had  no  personal  hostility  against 
Golding,  and  would  be  willing  to  spare  him  if  the 
Lord  permitted,  and  so  forth,  the  writer  admitted 
that,  although  nothing  would  induce  him  to  accept 
money  for  himself,  still  he  might  be  induced  to 
permit  Mr.  Golding  to  do  something  for  those 
dependent  upon  him." 

"And  did  he  suggest  any  method  of  doing  it  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  quite  an  ingenious  one  for  a  religious 
maniac.  Mr.  Golding  is  to  give  him  advance  infor 
mation  of  the  rise  or  fall  of  his  stocks.  This  is  to  be 
done  by  advertisements  in  the  "  personal  "  column 
of  one  of  the  morning  papers,  the  information  being 
given  in  cipher." 

"  Is  the  cipher  given  too  ? " 

"  It  is,  and  it  is  just  the  thing  for  the  purpose  : 
easily  understood  if  you  have  the  key,  and  not  so 
peculiar  as  to  excite  curiosity  in  those  not  con 
cerned.  The  whole  thing  was  evidently  planned 
out  from  the  beginning.  Finally  he  says  that  in 
case  Golding  gives  any  information  which  is  not 
correct  he  may  expect  very  short  shrift  ;  and  he 
is  left  to  infer  that  so  long  as  the  information  brings 
money  the  Lord's  vengeance  will  be  delayed. 
The  fellow  is  a  contemptible  hound,  and  that  is 


A   SLEIGH-RIDE.  91 

why  I  find  it  difficult  to  reconcile  him  with  what 
we  know  of  Cowran.  I  could  understand  his  killing 
a  man  in  a  fit  of  passion  ;  but  this  is  a  horse  of 
quite  another  color." 

"Will  Mr.  Golding  give  the  information?"  in 
quired  the  other,  after  a  pause. 

"  To  be  sure  he  will,  and  the  fellow  will  make 
money  on  it.  That  seems  to  be  about  our  only 
chance  of  identifying  him." 

"  You  mean  that  we  can  trace  him  by  means  of 
the  brokers  through  whom  he  acts  ?" 

"  But  if  he  is  as  shrewd  as  he  has  proved  himself 
to  be  thus  far,  he  can  elude  us  there  without  much 
difficulty.  I  was  in  hopes  that  he  would  have 
asked  for  a  certain  fixed  sum  of  money  ;  I  would 
have  been  sure  of  him  then  !  " 

"  But  he  won't  be  satisfied  with  one  haul,  do  you 
think  ?  He'll  be  coming  again  and  again,  and 
sooner  or  later  we  must  catch  him  napping." 

"  That's  all  very  well  ;  but  it  would  be  more  sat 
isfactory  to  get  at  him  more  directly.  You  have 
visited  Cowran's  office,  of  course  ?  " 

"  I  dropped  in  yesterday,  on  the  pretext  of  get 
ting  him  to  lunch  with  me.  There  was  nobody 
worth  looking  after  there.  A  head-clerk  named 
Talbot,  a  young  woman  to  do  the  type-writing,  and 
a  couple  of  younger  men.  My  impression  was 
very  strong  that  they  are  none  of  them  in  it. 
Cunliffe  tells  me  that  he  has  known  Talbot  for 
several  years,  and  that  he  is  as  guileless  as  a 
baby." 


92  A   SL1UC1I-RIDE. 

"  Is  that  Frank  Cunliffe— a  member  of  the  League 
Club  ? " 

"That  is  the  fellow." 

"  I  had  a  glimpse  of  him  the  other  evening. 
What  do  you  know  about  him  ?  " 

"  He  lives  on  his  income,  and  ekes  it  out  by 
doing  dramatic  criticism.  He's  a  well-educated 
man,  in  the  fashion,  knows  every  body.  Got 
acquainted  with  Cowran  through  some  legal  affair. 
But  I  haven't  followed  him  up  much." 

"  In  an  affair  of  this  kind,  when  we  are  all  in  the 
dark,  you  should  follow  up  every  body.  There's  no 
telling  where  a  clew  might  come  in.  Does  this 
Cunliffe  know  Golding  ?  " 

"  I  never  heard  him  mention  him." 
"  Find  that  out  at  once.     How  long  has  Talbot 
been  in  Cowran's  office  ?  " 
"  Ten  years  at  least." 

"  Then  Talbot  must  know  Golding,  and  all 
about  his  quarrel  with  Cowran  ;  and  since  Cunliffe 
knows  Talbot,  he  is  likely  to  at  least  have  some 
useful  knowledge  about  Golding.  Why,  there  may 
be  something  in  this  !  The  more  I  think  about  this 
business,  the  more  inclined  I  am  to  believe  that  the 
man  we  want  has  no  personal  quarrel  with  Gold 
ing,  but  is  simply  a  rascally  speculator.  If  Cunliffe 
writes  for  the  papers,  his  income  can't  be  sufficient 
for  him.  The  glimpse  I  had  of  his  face  didn't  im 
press  me  favorably.  Fellows  like  him,  keeping  up 
appearances  in  good  society,  are  sometimes  the 
most  worthless  kind  of  rogues.  I  would  sooner 


A   SLEIGH-RIDE.  93 

act  upon  slight  evidence  against  a  man  like  Cun- 
liffe  than  upon  strong  evidence  against  a  man  like 
Cowran." 

"  I  will  take  him  up  immediately.  Shall  I  keep 
an  eye  on  Talbot  also?" 

"  Not  for  the  present.  We  shall  probably  not 
want  him  unless  the  scent  after  Cowran  gets  hotter 
than  it  is  ;  and  meanwhile  you  can  keep  track  of  him 
sufficiently  through  Cunliffe.  As  you  are  practically 
alone  in  the  investigation  of  this  affair — and,  by 
the  way,  what  you  have  done  has  been  well  done, 
all  things  considered — you  had  better  not  try  to  be 
in  too  many  places  at  once.  Luckily,  Cunliffe  and 
Cowran  are  both  members  of  the  same  club,  and 
-  Hullo  !  " 

As  he  uttered  the  exclamation,  he  pulled  in  his 
horse,  and  brought  the  sleigh  to  a  standstill  at  the 
side  of  the  road.  At  the  same  time  he  pushed  back 
his  fur  cap  from  his  forehead,  and  opened  his  fur 
collar,  revealing  the  well-known  features  of  Inspec 
tor  Byrnes.  Another  sleigh,  advancing  in  the  oppo 
site  direction,  drew  up  abreast  of  him.  It  was 
driven  by  a  Cossack  coachman,  and  contained  Mr. 
Owens. 

"  Excuse  me  for  stopping  you,  Owens,"  said  the 
Inspector.  "  This  is  Mr.  Hamilton,  a  friend  of 
mine,  and  on  the  case.  I  didn't  wish  to  lose  the 
opportunity  of  asking  you  whether  there  was  any 
thing  new." 

"  I'm  glad  we  met,"  Owens  replied,     "  There  is 


94  A    SLEIGH-RIDE. 

something  new,  and  I  confess  it  puzzles  me.     Two 
things,  in  fact." 

"  When  can  I  see  you  ?  " 

"  The  best  plan  will  be  for  us  both  to  drive  to 
my  house.  Mr.  Hamilton  will  come  too,  of  course. 
Will  that  suit  you  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  !  " 

Mr.  Owens  spoke  to  his  coachman,  who  turned 
the  sleigh  and  set  out  homeward,  followed  by  the 
Inspector  and  Hamilton.  In  a  short  time  the  three 
men  were  seated  at  the  table  in  Mr.  Owens's 
library. 

"  You  said  there  were  two  new  things,  I  think," 
said  the  Inspector. 

"  I  did,  and  I  will  give  them  to  you  in  the  order 
of  their  appearing.  The  first  is  this  letter  from  the 
unknown  letter-writer.  Read  it,  and  see  what  you 
think  of  it." 

The  Inspector  took  the  letter,  and  perused  it 
twice  carefully. 

"  He  replies  to  the  advertisement,"  he  then  said, 
looking  up,  "  and  announces  that  he  will  follow 
Mr.  Golding's  advice  on  Wednesday  as  to  buying 
stock." 

''Yes  ;  and  there  is  something  else." 

"  So  I  see  ;  but  I  don't  understand  it.  It  seems 
to  refer  to  some  previous  business  of  Mr.  Golding's 
of  which  I  know  nothing." 

"  I'll  explain  it  to  you.  At  the  time  Golding 
quarreled  with  Cowran,  Cowran  had  some  papers 
of  Golding's  in  his  possession,  to  be  used  in  con- 


95 

ducting  a  certain  law-suit.  These  papers  were  of 
a  very  private  nature  ;  they  contained  the  key  to 
some  of  Golding's  secret  methods  of  conducting 
operations." 

"  I  follow  you.     Go  on." 

"  The  contents  of  these  papers  were  known  to 
no  one  except  Golding,  Cowran,  and  myself.  By 
some  oversight,  they  have  remained  in  Cowran's 
hands  ever  since.  Golding  thought  they  had  been 
returned  to  him,  but  they  had  not." 

"  I  understand  !  And  the  expressions  in  this 
letter " 

"  The  expressions  in  that  letter  could  have  been 
used  only  by  a  man  who  was  familiar  with  the  con 
tents  of  those  papers." 

"  Humph  !  "  ejaculated  Hamilton,  glancing  at 
his  superior.  "  That  seems  to  come  pretty  straight, 
doesn't  it  ?" 

The  Inspector  stroked  his  chin  and  was  silent  for 
a  few  moments. 

"  Could  Cowran  have  communicated  the  contents 
of  the  papers  to  any  third  party,  during  the  inter 
val  between  the  quarrel  and  now  ?"  he  demanded 
at  length. 

"  It  is  physically  possible,  no  doubt,  but  ex 
tremely  improbable.  He  could  have  done  so  only 
with  the  intention  of  injuring  Golding  ;  and  the 
injury  would  have  been  infinitely  more  effective  if, 
instead  of  telling  the  secret  to  one  man,  he  had  put 
it  in  the  papers  and  published  it  to  all  the  world." 


96  A    SLEIGH-RIDE. 

"  True.  Then  you  infer  that  Cowran  wrote  the 
letters  ?  " 

"  That  would  be  the  logical  deduction  ;  never 
theless,  I  must  confess  that  I  still  believe  Cowran 
to  be  innocent.  Though  he  would  not  be  likely  to 
voluntarily  betray  the  secret  to  any  one,  accident 
might  have  somehow  revealed  it  without  his  con 
nivance  or  knowledge.  But  that  is  not  all." 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure  !  You  spoke  of  something  else. 
What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Golding  this  morning  received  by  a  spe 
cial  messenger  from  Cowran's  office,a  sealed  packet; 
he  opened  it  and  found — what  do  you  suppose  ?  " 

"  The  private  papers  ?" 

"  The  private  papers,  complete  and  intact  !  Now, 
Inspector,  what  is  your  interpretation  of  that  ?  " 

"  Were  they  accompanied  by  any  letter  or  mem 
orandum  from  Cowran  ?  " 

"  The  messenger  presented  a  receipt  for  Gold- 
ing  to  sign.  That  was  all" 

"  Well,"  said  the  Inspector,  after  a  pause,  "  that 
will  bear  thinking  over  !  It  doesn't  seem  to  hang 
together,  and  yet  it's  difficult  to  separate  it.  What 
do  you  make  out  of  it,  Hamilton  ?  " 

"  It  might  be  just  a  blind,"  Hamilton  said. 

"  So  it  may,"  returned  the  Inspector,  "and,  on 
the  other  hand,  I'd  hardly  venture  to  call  it  a  coin 
cidence.  Give  me  two  days,  Owens,"  he  added, 
turning  to  that  gentleman,  "  and  I  will  at  least  tell 
you  whether  it's  Cowran  or  not.  Meanwhile— 
good-by  !  " 


CHAPTER  XI. 

GENERAL  WEYjVIOUTH. 

GENERAL  WEYMOUTH'S  lodgings  in  Irving 
Place  were  neither  spacious  nor  luxurious  ; 
but  they  were  characterized  by  soldierly  neatness 
and  order.  There  were  two  rooms,  one  facing  on 
the  street,  and  the  other,  communicating  with  it  by 
a  small  bath-room,  on  the  yard  at  the  back  of  the 
house.  The  walls  of  the  former  room  were  deco 
rated  by  a  steel-engraved  portrait  of  General  Grant 
and  another  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  There  was  a 
plain  mahogany  bookstand  in  one  corner,  containing 
almost  nothing  but  poetry  aud  theology,  these 
being,  apparently,  the  only  kinds  of  literature  that 
the  general  cared  for.  In  another  corner  was  a 
violoncello — a  fine  instrument,  though  the  general 
had  insured  the  silent  or  open  hostility  of  every 
one  of  his  fellow-lodgers  by  his  affection  for  and 
practice  with  it  ;  he  was  an  early  riser,  and  before 
breakfast  was  his  chosen  season  for  extracting  what 
he  was  pleased  to  consider  harmony  from  the 
strings  of  his  overgrown  fiddle.  The  general's 
habits  were  regular.  For  an  hour  after  breakfast 
he  reacj  theology  ;  then  he  walked  out,  rain  or 


9 8  GENERA L    I VE  YMO  U  Til. 

shine,  for  an  hour  or  two  more.  Toilet  operations 
occupied  him  an  hour  more,  and  then  he  went 
down  to  the  midday  meal.  In  the  afternoon  he 
wrote  letters,  if  he  had  any  to  write,  or  read 
poetry  ;  half  an  hour  before  dinner  he  took 
another  short  stroll.  After  dinner  he  went  to  the 
concert  or  the  opera  ;  and  before  he  went  to  bed, 
he  took  another  dose  of  theology.  He  slept 
soundly  in  a  narrow  military  cot,  such  as  is  used 
in  camps  ;  he  snored  faithfully  all  night  long  ;  and 
when  he  awoke  in  the  morning  the  first  object  his 
eyes  rested  upon  was  a  lithograph  of  Beethoven, 
which  hung  over  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

This  was  the  daily  routine  of  a  man  who  had 
fought  with  honor  and  distinction  in  the  civil  war, 
and  had  for  some  years  afterward  occupied  a  promi 
nent  position  in  social  and  political  life.  His  re 
tirement  from  the  world,  whether  voluntary  or  not, 
was  at  all  events  endured  with  dignity,  and  even 
with  a  kind  of  grave  cheerfulness  ;  he  made  no 
complaints,  nor  was  he  addicted  to  buttonholing 
people  with  tales  of  his  former  importance  and 
present  unappreciated  deserts.  He  simply  held 
his  tongue,  was  courteous  and  considerate  (except 
in  the  matter  of  the  violoncello),  and  minded  no 
body's  business  but  his  own. 

Of  late,  however,  those  who  were  familiar  \\ith 
his  ways  had  remarked  a  change  in  him.  He 
frequently  omitted  his  morning  walk  ;  nor  was  his 
early  matutinal  practice  with  the  'cello  as  systematic 
and  relentless  as  of  yore.  His  step  would  be  heard 


GENERAL    WE  YMO  UT11. 


99 


pacing  backwards  and  forwards  in  his  room  for 
hours  at  a  time  ;  and  at  table  he  was  silent  and 
preoccupied  beyond  his  wont.  His  landlady  became 
anxious,  and  ventured  to  ask  him  whether  anything 
was  the  matter,  to  which  he  replied  that  he  was  in 
perfect  health.  As  he  paid  his  rent  in  full  on  the 
ensuing  quarter-day,  she  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  his  troubles,  if  he  had  any,  were  no  affair  of 
hers,  and  forbore  to  question  him  further.  He  still 
went  out  every  evening,  but  it  was  noticed  that  he 
came  home  rather  later  than  usual. 

One  forenoon  he  informed  her  that  he  should 
not  be  home  to  lunch,  as  he  had  business  down 
town.  He  was  absent  accordingly,  but  returned 
late  in  the  afternoon  with  a  very  gloomy  brow,  and 
he  did  not  emerge  again  that  day.  The  day  fol 
lowing  he  appeared  attired  in  his  best  clothes,  and 
walked  up  the  street  with  a  measured  and  resolute 
step.  Half  an  hour  later  he  was  admitted  to  the 
reception-room  of  the  popular  singer,  Miss  Kitty 
Clive. 

Miss  Clive  soon  came  in,  looking  wholesome  and 
cordial.  Her  professional  career  had  certainly 
improved  her  appearance.  She  carried  herself 
better  ;  her  figure  was  fuller  ;  the  imperfections  of 
her  complexion  had  disappeared.  Then  her  expres 
sion  was  intelligent  and  sympathetic,  and  you  felt 
there  were  reserves  behind  that  could  be  made 
available  upon  occasion  ;  her  smile  was  kind  and  her 
laugh  merry.  As  for  her  voice,  it  was  a  revelation 
not  only  of  melody,  but  of  a  deep  and  rich  nature. 


ioo  GENERAL    WE  Y MOUTH. 

"  It  was  good  of  you  to  come  to  me  to-day, 
General  Weymouth,"  she  said,  after  the  first  greet 
ings.  "I  have  been  feeling  out  of  sorts  all  the 
morning.  You  always  make  me  feel  better  con 
tented  with  myself  and  things  in  general." 

"  I  can  understand,"  the  general  replied,  "  that 
the  pleasure  you  give  me  must  be  something  of  a 
pleasure  to  yourself.  That  belongs  to  a  generous 
and  humane  character  like  yours.  But  I  design  to 
try  your  good  nature  further  than  usual  to-day.  I 
wish  to  tell  you  something  about  myself." 

"  Then  what  you  say  can  not  fail  to  be  interesting. 
But  let  me  tell  you  first  that  I  require  no  personal 
explanation  at  your  hands.  I  value  your  friend 
ship,  and  I  respect  you  without  need  of  any  further 
warrant  for  it  than  is  given  by  what  I  see  and  know 
of  you.  A  woman  depends  more  on  her  intuitions 
than  on  any  formal  recommendations,  and  my 
intuitions  tell  me  that  you  are  to  be  trusted." 

"  I  thank  you,  my  child,  with  all  my  heart,"  said 
the  general.  "Well,  your  trust  is  so  far  justified 
that  I  can  say  that  my  past  life  has  been  free  from 
dishonorable  reproach  ;  I  have  behaved  as  a  soldier 
and  a  gentleman  is  bound  to  behave.  But  it  was 
not  a  vindication  that  I  was  about  to  attempt. 
What  I  wish  to  say  is  prompted  by  the  fact  that  it 
has  a  bearing  upon  my — our  mutual  attitude.  It 
is  necessary  that  you  should  know  it  in  order  to  be 
able  to  judge  intelligently  of  a  matter  which  I 
intend  afterwards  to  submit  to  you/' 


GENERAL    WEYMOUTH.  101 

"  You  make  me  curious  in  spite  of  myself.  Do 
let  me  hear  !  " 

"  I  have  already  spoken  to  you  about  my  former 
relations  with  the  great  financier,  Maxwell  Golding," 
the  general  began.  "  I  mentioned  that  there  had 
been  a  suggestion  that  I  should  be  connected,  on 
terms  very  favorable  to  myself,  with  the  manage 
ment  of  a  large  enterprise.  I  told  you  that  I  had 
declined  the  position.  But  I  did  not  tell  you  why 
I  had  done  so,  nor  why,  after  that  event,  my  way 
of  life  became  so  different  from  what  it  had  been 
before." 

He  paused,  and  bent  his  eyes  upon  the  fire,  pull 
ing  somewhat  nervously  at  his  gray  mustache.  Kitty 
regarded  him  thoughtfully,  and  sighed.  He  had 
been  a  handsome  and  gallant  youth  thirty  years 
ago  ;  but  time  and  trouble  had  had  their  inevitable 
effect  upon  him,  as  upon  all  men  and  women.  Yet 
he  had  always  remained  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier. 
Must  honor  and  sincerity  forever  be  the  passports 
to  unhappiness  ?  and  if  so,  might  there  not  be  some 
justification  for  defying  these  traditions,  and  doing, 
upon  occasion,  what  seems  right  in  one's  own 
eyes  ?  If  evil  did  not  bear  the  stigma,  would  it  be 
evil  still  ? 

"  When  I  came  out  of  the  war,"  said  the  gen 
eral,  "  I  was  thirty  years  old,  and  I  had  a  consider 
able  fortune.  I  had  received  a  bullet  through  the 
upper  part  of  the  body,  but  the  wound  had  healed, 
and  I  felt  as  if  I  had  the  better  part  of  my  life  still 
before  me.  My  family  is  of  good  origin  and  re- 


T02  GENERAL    ]VEY  MOUTH. 

pute,  and  all  doors  were  open  to  me.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  likelihood  of  permanent  peace  ;  I 
saw  that  my  professional  rank  would  be  a  sine 
cure,  or  at  least  an  idle  routine;  I  did  not  wish  to 
burden  the  government  with  my  salary  ;  and  so  I 
resigned  my  commission.  I  was  interested  in  the 
reconstruction  problem,  and  thus  I  came  to  take 
an  active  part  in  politics  ;  and  the  ambition  grew 
upon  me  to  introduce  a  better  class  of  citizens  to 
the  control  of  affairs  than  had  hitherto  taken  part 
in  them,  to  make  our  politics  worthy  of  our  na 
tional  name  and  destiny.  It  was  a  great  scheme, 
and  it  had  already  suggested  itself  to  many  good 
men,  as  it  will  doubtless  continue  to  do  hereafter. 
Whether  any  practical  good  results  will  ever  come 
from  it,  I  will  not  pretend  to  say.  I  can  not  con 
gratulate  myself  upon  my  own  success  in  the  enter 
prise. 

"  This  activity  of  mine  continued  for  several 
years.  I  did  not  aim  at  holding  offices  myself  ; 
my  energies  were  directed  to  bringing  honest  and 
efficient  men  before  the  voters,  and  to  making  the 
voters  realize  the  necessity  of  electing  honest  and 
efficient  men.  Our  national  vice  is  an  easy-going, 
cynical  indifference  ;  we  put  up  with  abuses  until 
they  became  despotisms  ;  and  though  we  are  apt 
to  throw  off  the  despotisms  when  they  become  too 
open  and  outrageous,  yet  the  day  may  come  when 
we  shall  encounter  some  despot  who  will  not  be  de 
posed.  It  was  not  long  before  I  came  to  the  con 
viction  that  the  most  dangerous  despotism  we 


GK\7ERAL    WEYMOUTH.  103 

would  have  to  deal  with  would  be  that  of  wealth. 
Our  country  offers  facilities  for  the  amassing  of 
enormous  fortunes  in  a  comparatively  short  time  ; 
and  there  is  no  guarding  against  the  contingency 
of  this  wealth  falling  into  ignorant  or  unprincipled 
hands.  Every  body  is  in  pursuit  of  money  ;  and 
the  man  who  gets  the  most  will  generally  be  con 
sidered  the  ablest  man. 

"  I  was  approaching  forty  years  of  age  when  I 
met  the  woman  who  afterwards  became  my  wife. 
Yes,  Miss  Clive,  I  have  been  married,  though  very 
few  people  are  aware  of  it.  She  was  a  beautiful 
girl  then — strikingly  so  ;  and  she  was  accom 
plished  ;  I  took  it  for  granted  that  she  was  every 
thing  else  that  was  lovely  in  womanhood.  As  to 
her  origin,  I  did  not  inquire  closely  into  it  ;  it  is 
not  the  custom  in  this  country  to  worship  ances 
tors.  I  was  satisfied  in  believing  that  she  loved 
me  and  that  she  was  lovable.  We  were  engaged  ; 
and  after  a  few  months  a  clergyman  pronounced 
the  marriage  service  over  us. 

"  Our  honeymoon  lasted  four  weeks.  The  day  af 
ter  we  returned,  as  I  was  sitting  in  my  office  down 
town,  a  card  was  brought  in  to  me,  and  I  was  told 
that  the  person  whose  name  it  bore  was  desirous  of 
seeing  me.  I  gave  orders  that  he  be  admitted.  He 
came  in — a  man  of  eight  and  twenty,  handsome, 
but  with  an  air  about  him  that  I  did  not  like — a 
rascally  air.  His  manner  was  polished,  however; 
he  was  well-dressed,  and  seemed  to  be  well-edu 
cated.  I  asked  him  what  he  wanted. 


104  GENERAL    U'EY  MOUTH. 

"  He  said,  '  I  must  begin  by  telling  you  that  the 
name  on  that  card  is  not  my  real  name.  It  is  one 
I  have  assumed,  for  good  and  sufficient  reasons, 
But  I  do  not  wish  to  approach  you  under  false 
colors.' 

"  I  answered  that  I  did  not  perceive  how  that 
concerned  me. 

"He  said, 'It  does  concern  you,  though,  more 
than  any  one  else.  I  shall  tell  you  my  real  name ; 
but  it  will  depend  upon  you  whether  any  one  else 
ever  hears  it.' 

"  'How  does  it  concern  me  ? '  I  asked.  '  I  never 
saw  you  before.' 

"  'Well,'  he  said.  '  You  know  a  man  does  not 
change  his  name  for  nothing.  He  has  some  rea 
son  for  it.  Either  the  name  is  an  ugly  or  common 
one,  and  does  not  please  his  ear  ;  or  else  he  has 
done  something  to  bring  it  into  bad  odor,  and 
changes  it  to  escape  the  consequences.  The  latter 
is  my  case  ! 

"'1  ask  you  again,'  I  said,  '  how  does  that  con 
cern  me  ?  If  you  are  a  rascal,  as  your  words  seem 
to  imply,  it  is  my  concern  to  see  that  you  leave 
this  office,  and  don't  return  to  it  ;  but  I  have  noth 
ing  further  to  do  with  you.' 

"  'Yes,  you  have,'  he  said.  '  And  you  will  not 
turn  me  out  of  this  office.' 

"  I  began  to  think  the  man  was  crazy,  or  that  he 
had  mistaken  me  for  somebody  else.  If  I  had  been 
guilty  of  any  rascality  i'n  the  past,  I  should  have 
supposed  that  he  had  become  aware  of  it,  and  meant 


GENERA L    WE  YMO  UTH.  105 

to  make  me  pay  for  his  knowledge.  But  my  con 
science  was  clear,  and  I  had  no  fear  of  him  or  of 
any  man.  I  decided  to  let  him  speak.  '  Say  what 
you  have  to  say,'  I  told  him,  '  and  then  go.' 

"  '  Are  we  where  no  one  can  hear  us  ?'  he  asked. 
'  I  make  the  inquiry  in  your  interest  quite  as  much 
as  in  mine.' 

"  I  told  him  that  he  need  be  under  no  apprehen 
sion  of  eavesdroppers. 

"  *  Then  here  it  is,'  said  he.  *  I  was  arrested 
three  years  ago  for  a  certain  crime.  I  needn't  tell 
you  what  the  crime  was,  for  my  real  name  will 
probably  be  sufficient  to  recall  the  crime  to  your 
memory.'  Here  he  told  me  his  real  name  ;  and  J 
did  recognize  it  as  that  of  the  perpetrator  of  a 
dastardly  roguery  that  had  created  a  sensation  at 
the  time.  *  I  was  tried  and  convicted,'  he  went  on; 
*  and  I  may  tell  you  in  confidence  that  the  jury 
were  quite  right;  I 'was  guilty.  The  judge  very 
properly  sentenced  me  to  fifteen  years  imprison 
ment  with  hard  labor.  It  was  not  too  severe  a 
sentence.' 

"  *  And  this  was  only  three  years  ago  ? '  I  said. 

"  '  Only  three  years  ago,'  he  answered  ;  '  and  here 
I  am  again,  as  right  as  a  trivet  !  ' 

"  '  Have  you  broken  jail  ? ' 

"'  No  ;  and  I  haven't  been  pardoned  out,  either. 
I  am  out  on  better  grounds  than  either  of  those. 
My  lawyers  discovered  a  flaw  in  the  trial,  and  got 
me  out  on  the  technicality.  I  am  just  as  free  and 
as  safe  as  if  I  had  lived  virtuous  all  my  days.' 


io6  GENERAL   WEYMOUTH. 

"  <  For  the  last  time,'  I  said,  '  what  do  you  want  ? ' 

"<  Well,'  he  said,  'ten  thousand  ^dollars  will  be 
enough  for  to-day  ;  but  I  warn  you  that  I  shall 
need  some  more  at  the  end  of  the  month.' 

"  *  You  are  welcome  to  ten  thousand  dollars,'  I 
said,  '  if  you  can  get  it.  But  meanwhile,  get  out 
of  this  room.' 

" '  If  I  leave  this  room,'  he  said,  '  it  will  be  to 
call  on  the  lady  who  calls  herself  Mrs.  Weymouth. 
I  am  confident  that  she  will  refuse  me  nothing.' 

"  '  Beware  how  you  speak  the  name  of  my  wife 
again  !  '  I  said,  '  or  I  will  throw  you  through  that 
window.' 

"  '  Your  wife  ? '  said  he.  '  Nonsense,  my  good 
fellow  !  I  married  the  woman  myself  five  years 
ago  ;  we  have  never  been  divorced  ;  and  her  little 
escapade  with  you  does  not  alter  her  legal  relation 
to  me.' 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A    TALE    OF    THE    CITY. 

AT  this  point  in  his  story,  General  Weymouth 
paused  and  turned  his  gaze  from  the  fire  to  Kitty 
Clive's  face.  He  saw  tears  in  her  eyes  ;  and  as  he 
looked  they  ran  down  her  cheeks.  She  did  not 
seem  to  be  aware  of  them.  There  was  profound 
sympathy  and  compassion  in  her  regard  ;  and  he 
was  the  more  sensible  thereof  because  she  made  no 
attempt  to  put  her  feeling  into  words. 

"  I  have  sometimes  asked  myself,"  the  general 
presently  continued,  "  and  I  have  never  found  an 
entirely  satisfactory  answer  to  the  question, 
whether  it  would  not  have  been  a  wise  and  meri 
torious  act  on  my  part  to  have  killed  that  man  then 
and  there.  I  came  within  a  hair's-breadth  of  doing 
it  ;  and  I  can  not  say  that  I  have  been  glad  that  I 
refrained.  But  almost  immediately  the  thought 
came,  «  What  he  says  is  false,'  and  I  determined  to 
prove  it.  All  I  said  to  him  was,  *  I  will  accompany 
you  to  my  home,  and  you  can  then  repeat  what  you 
have  just  told  me.  I  advise  you  to  say  nothing 
more  to  me  in  the  meanwhile.' 

"  He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  We  went  out  to 
gether  and  got  into  a  horse- car  to  go  up  town.  Be- 


To8  A    TALK    OF    THE    CITY. 

fore  we  started,  I  took  a  revolver  out  of  my  drawer 
and  put  it  in  the  pocket  of  my  overcoat.  I  kept 
my  hand  upon  it  during  the  journey,  intending  to 
shoot  him  if  he  made  any  attempt  to  escape.  But 
he  did  not  attempt  it.  At  last  we  reached  my 
home.  I  opened  the  door  with  a  latch-key,  and  we 
entered  the  hall.  The  drawing-room  was  on  the 
left.  I  heard  my  wife  at  the  piano.  I  motioned 
the  fellow  to  stay  in  the  hall,  while  I  went  in.  My 
wife  looked  round,  and  ran  from  the  piano  with  an 
exclamation  of  surprise  and  pleasure.  She  had  not 
expected  me  back  for  several  hours.  She  came 
forward  with  her  arms  outstretched,  to  kiss  me. 
As  I  looked  at  her,  I  felt  certain  that  the  story  was 
a  lie.  I  took  her  in  my  arms  and  kissed  her.  It 
was  the  last  kiss  I  ever  gave  her. 

"  She  asked  me  what  brought  me  back  so  soon 
I  told  her  that  a  man  had  been  at  my  office  who 
asserted  that  he  had  been  acquainted  with  her, 
that  I  believed  him  to  be  a  swindler,  and  that,  in 
order  to  settle  the  matter,  I  had  told  him  I  would 
ask  her. 

"  I  was  holding  her  affectionately  by  the  arms.  I 
felt  her  arms  grow  rigid  in  my  hands.  She  turned 
her  face  away  for  a  moment  ;  then  she  looked 
straight  at  me,  smiling,  and  said,  '  What  is  his 
name  ? ' 

" '  He  has  two,'  I  answered  ;  and  I  told  her  what 
they  were. 

"  She  turned  pale,  and  moistened  her  lips.  She 
stepped  back,  removing  herself  from  my  embrace, 


A    TALE   OF    THE    CITY.  109 

and  chafing  the  back  of  one  hand  with  the  palm  of 
the  other.  She  said  in  a  dry  voice,  '  Oh,  he  is  an 
impostor.  It's  impossible.  I  never  heard  of  him.' 

"  I  turned  to  the  door  and  called  out,  '  Come  in 
here  !  ' 

"  He  came  in.  When  she  saw  him,  her  face 
changed  till  it  looked  like  death  ;  then  her  eyes  all 
at  once  shone  like  fire,  and  she  leaped  towards  him 
as  if  she  meant  to  kill  him.  But  she  did  not  reach 
him  ;  she  stopped,  shaking  all  over,  and  gave  a  wild 
scream,  half  laughing,  and  with  some  words  in  it 
that  I  could  not  distinguish,  and  staggered  and 
dropped  on  the  floor.  I  have  seen  men  who  were 
killed  in  battle  die  just  like  that. 

" '  You  see  I  told  you  the  truth,'  said  the  fellow. 

"  '  Yes,'  I  said.  «  Tell  me  the  rest.' 

"  He  told  me  the  story.  He  had  met  the  girl  ; 
her  father  was  a  disreputable  man,  and  he  was  using 
her  as  a  bait  to  catch  a  rich  husband.  This  fellow 
ruined  the  girl ;  but  her  father  induced  him  to 
marry  her,  and  employ  her  as  a  sort  of  stool-pigeon 
in  various  kinds  of  infamous  transactions.  At  last 
the  crime  was  planned  and  carried  out  which  re 
sulted  in  the  arrest  and  conviction  of  the  husband. 
The  woman  went  back  to  her  father.  They  agreed 
that  since  the  husband  was  dead  to  all  practical  in 
tents  and  purposes — put  out  of  the  way  for  fifteen 
years — she  should  resume  her  maiden  name  and 
try  to  get  another  husband.  The  scheme  was  put 
in  operation,  and  after  three  years  they  succeeded 
in  entrapping  me.  *  Now,'  said  the  fellow  in  con- 


110  A  .TALE   OF   THE    CITY. 

elusion,  '  you  may  keep  her  if  you  want  her  ;  I 
have  no  use  for  her.  But  you  are  a  highly  respected 
gentleman,  with  the  best  possible  social  connections. 
You  want  to  keep  this  affair  quiet  ;  you  don't  want 
to  be  mixed  up  in  any  bigamy  proceedings.  Busi 
ness  is  business.  I  have  my  living  to  make.  If  I 
am  to  hold  my  tongue,  I  shall  look  to  you  for 
funds.  So  long  as  they  are  forthcoming,  that 
woman  may  call  herself  Mrs.  Weymouth  to  her 
heart's  content.  But  as  soon  as  you  repudiate  my 
drafts,  or  expose  me  in  any  way,  or  oppose  me  in 
any  plans  I  attempt  to  carry  out,  I  shall  claim  my 
wife  through  the  courts,  and  the  whole  yarn  will 
appear  in  the  papers.  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"  I  said,  '  I  shall  protect  this  lady,  who  has  been 
known  by  my  name,  and  who  probably  married  me 
in  the  belief  that  you  were  dead.  I  will  pay  you  a 
reasonable  yearly  sum  to  keep  out  of  our  way. 
You  will  do  wisely  not  to  try  me  too  far.  That's  all 
I  have  to  tell  you.' 

"  He  said,  *  You  will  find  my  address  on  the  card 
I  gave  you.  I  shall  expect  a  check  for  ten  thou 
sand  dollars  to  reach  me  there  by  noon  to-morrow. 
Otherwise,  I  shall  begin  proceedings  the  next 
morning.' 

"  He  went  out,  and  I  was  left  alone  with  her.  I 
lifted  her  from  the  floor  and  carried  her  to  the 
sofa.  She  recovered  consciousness  in  a  few  minutes. 
I  sat  beside  her,  as  she  lay  there,  and  we  had  a 
talk,  in  which  arrangements  were  made  for  the 
future.  We  were  gradually  to  cease  to  visit  or  re- 


A    TALE    OF    THE    CITY.  n 


ceive  friends.  We  were  to  occupy  the  same  house 
while  in  town  ;  but  she  was  to  go  to  some  country 
place  during  the  summer,  while  I  would  remain  in 
New  York  on  plea  of  business.  Little  by  little  we 
would  separate  more  and  more.  I  requested  her 
to  refrain  from  any  thing  likely  openly  to  dishonor 
my  name  ;  and  I  on  my  side  would  do  all  I  could 
to  protect  her  from  suspicion  or  insult.  If  she  had 
loved  me,"  said  the  General,  after  a  pause,  "  I 
would  have  acted  in  another  manner.  I  would  have 
defied  her  husband,  and,  as  we  could  not  legally 
be  man  and  wife,— I  would  have  taken  her  to 
another  country  and  lived  with  her  there,  a  husband 
to  her  before  God  if  not  by  the  law  of  man.  But 
she  did  not  Jove  me  ;  she  could  not  even  pretend 
that  she  did  ;  and  therefore  she  could  not  have 
been  content  under  any  such  arrangement.  As  for 
me,  I  had  loved  her  with  all  my  heart  at  first  ; 
and  if  I  did  not  love  her  after  that  discovery  it 
was  because  my  heart  was  dead.  But  I  could  not 
abandon  her  ;  I  could  not  but  do  my  utmost  to  pro 
tect  her  against  herself.  God  knows,  that  although 
I  let  it  be  understood  that  my  course  was  prompted 
by  a  desire  to  shield  my  family  name  and  my 
honor,  my  real  motive  was  only  to  be  kind  to  her. 
Ah,  poor  girl— poor  girl  !  " 

His  eyes  were  again  bent  upon  the  fire,  as  if  he 
saw  there  the  glowing  youthful  beauty  of  the  woman 
through  whom  his  life  had  been  wrecked.  By  and 
by  he  roused  himself  and  continued. 

"  I  had  no  intention  of  speaking  to  you  so  fully 


H2  A    TALE   OF   THE   CITY. 

of  these  things,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  have  allowed  my 
self  to  run  on,  and,  in  excuse,  I  may -say  that  you 
are  the.  first  human  being,  my  dear  Miss  Clive,  to 
whom  I  have  ever  spoken  of  this  episode  of  my 
life.  I  have  told  it  to  you  because  I  felt  impelled 
to  do  so  ;  I  knew  that  you  would  respect  my  confi 
dence  and  understand  my  feeling.  And  I  also  had 
another  object,  which  I  will  now  explain. 

11  After  the  first  shock  was  over,  I  made  up  my 
mind  not  to  let  my  calamity  crush  me.  As  there 
was  no  place  for  me  at  home,  I  set  myself  to  mak 
ing  a  home  in  the  midst  of  affairs  ;  and  my  origi 
nal  crusade  upon  corruption  and  incompetence  in 
politics  was  taken  up  with  all  the  added  energy 
that  comes  from  a  desire  to  escape  from  one's  self. 
But  I  met  with  an  opposition  upon  which  I  had 
not  counted. 

"  The  fellow  who  had  come  across  my  path — I 
will  call  him  Fowler — had  received  large  sums  of 
money  from  me,  and  had  entered  into  what  are 
called  politics.  He  was  shrewd  and  supple,  and 
utterly  unprincipled.  He  used  his  ill-gotten  money 
with  good  effect,  and  advanced  himself  with  wonder 
ful  rapidity.  Such  men  can  make  themselves  very 
useful  to  bigger  men,  who  do  not  care  to  inquire 
into  the  character  of  their  henchmen,  if  they  can 
attain  their  ends  through  them.  Fowler  realized) 
as  I  had  done,  the  almost  unlimited  power  of  the 
great  financiers  ;  but  he  plotted  to  get  that  power 
on  his  own  side;  and  in  supporting  it,  to  aggrandize 


A    TALE   OF    THE   CITY.  113 

himself.     He  began  to  be  recognized  as  a  powerful 
and  able  fellow. 

"  A  short  time  before   this,  I   had   become   ac 
quainted  with    Maxwell   Golding.     He    is   a  man 
who  has  made   his  own  way  and  possesses  remark 
able  traits  of  character.     I  did  not  like  the  system 
he  represented,  or  the  methods  he  adopted  ;  but  I 
liked  him.     He  was  in   earnest,  he  was  patient,  he 
had  far-reaching  views,  he   could  plan  vast  enter 
prises,  and,  if  any  unexpected  conditions  arose,  he 
could  alter   his  plans  so  as  to  meet  the   new  situa 
tion.     He  has  the  mind  of  a  great  commander  and 
statesman,  but  he  cares  little  for  name  and  fame  ; 
he  regards  the  reality  of  power  more  than  to  see 
his  power  recognized  ;  and  he   is  convinced  that 
the  most  real  power  in  modern  civilization  is  money. 
He  professes   small   belief    in    human  virtue  and 
honor  ;  but  his  own  private  life   is  blameless,  and 
he  never  departs  from   his   own  code  of  business 
morality.     From  one  point  of  view  he  is  a   merci 
less  brigand  ;  from  another,  he  is  a  man  who  sim 
ply  takes  things  and   men   as  he  finds   them   and 
makes  them  the  instruments  of  his  designs.     But 
after  all  is   said,  there   is   a   personal    fascination 
about  the   man,  which   I  have  felt,   and   which  I 
believe   to   be  at  the  bottom  of  some  of  his  most 
remarkable  successes.     It  is  a  cold  sort  of  fascina 
tion,  and  he  does    not    seem    to    exercise    it    con 
sciously ;    but    it    binds    men    to  him,   and  makes 
them  anxious  to  serve  him,  they  know  not  why. 
"I  was  frank   in  stating  my  aims  to  Golding— 


114  A    TALE  OF    THE   CITY. 

that  I  wished  to  do  away  with  the  class  to  which 
he  belonged  as  a  political  and  economic  factor  in 
the  country.     He  listened  to  my  arguments,  and 
assented  to  many  of  them  ;  but  the  only  argument 
he   used  was,  '  You  can't  stop    it.     It   is  natural, 
here  and  now,  that  money  should  be  a  power.     I 
have  money  and  I   mean  to  use  it.'     The  morality 
of  his  use  of  capital,  or  its  ultimate  effects  upon 
the  welfare  of   the    nation,  he  would   not   discuss. 
'  I'm  not  a  sentimentalist,'  he  said.     '  Nations  are 
not  made  of  paper  constitutions  and   declarations, 
but  of  men  and  women.     We  may  pretend  to  be  or 
to  profess  any  thing  ;  but  we  are  nothing  but  so 
many  men  and  women,  when  all's  done  ;  and  we 
propose  each  to  do  the  best  he  can  for  himself.' 
.  At  the  same  time  he  had   no  objection   to  my  op 
posing  him  and  what  he  represented  to  the  utmost 
of  my  ability.     *  You  are  right  enough  in  the  ab 
stract,'  he  said  ;  'and  if  you  think  you  can  realize 
your  theories,  go  ahead  ! ' 

"  Well,  my  dear  young  lady,  I  went  ahead  with 
all  the  strength  I  had.  The  money  which  Fowler 
took  from  me  hampered  me  somewhat,  and  I  had 
settled  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  on  my  wife  (as 
I  must  call  her)  in  such  a  manner  that  she  could 
touch  only  the  interest  of  it.  I  bought  a  news 
paper  and  used  it  to  inculcate  my  views.  I  made 
every  effort  to  push  the  paper  ;  and  for  a  time  it 
was  favorably  received  by  the  public.  But  by  and 
by  I  became  convinced  that  an  enemy  was 
working  against  me.  1  could  not  see  him,  I 


A    TALE    OF    THE   CITY.  115 

could  not  touch  him,  but  I  was  aware  of  him 
at  every  point.  His  attacks  were  subtle 
and  made  from  twenty  different  directions,  but 
they  were  all  of  the  same  character.  They  aimed 
at  vital  points — to  discredit  me  socially,  politically, 
•personally.  I  found  that  people  whom  I  had  al 
ways  regarded  as  staunch  friends  were  inoculated 
with  the  poison.  I  tried  to  trace  down  the  slanders 
and  insinuations  to  their  source,  but  in  vain.  I  was 
like  a  man  blindfold,  striking  at  invisible  assassins. 
At  length  one  of  the  most  powerful  papers,  com 
manding  an  immense  circulation,  began  publishing 
a  series  of  articles  on  the  same  subjects  which  I 
was  treating  in  my  paper.  They  purported  to  take 
the  same  ground  that  I  did,  but  with  differences, 
slight  in  appearance  but  vital  in  quality,  that  led  to 
very  alien  conclusions.  At  the  same  time,  there 
were  transparently  veiled  allusions  to  my  paper 
and  myself,  insinuating  doubts  as  to  the  integrity 
and  disinterestedness  of  my  aims.  The  effect  of  all 
this  was  first  to  forestall  and  pervert  my  argu 
ments,  and  then  to  discredit  me  as  a  journalist  and 
a  man  ;  yet  all  was  done  with  such  cunning  and 
seeming  candor,  as  to  sound  like  impersonal  zeal 
for  the  public  welfare.  I  did  what  I  could,  and 
spent  what  I  had,  but  in  spite  of  all,  the  circulation 
of  my  paper  decreased  every  day,  and  advertisers 
fell  off.  I  was  obstinate,  for  I  believed  I  was  in 
the  right,  and  that  right  would  prevail  ;  I  executed 
a  mortgage  on  the  paper,  and  laid  out  most  of  the 
money  in  renewed  efforts  to  extend  its  circulation  ; 


n6  A    TALE    OF    THE    CITY. 

but  the  tide  continued  to  set  steadily  Against  me. 
When  the  mortgage  fell  due  I  tried  to  get  it  re 
newed.  But  I  discovered  that  it  had  been  bought 
up  by  some  other  person  ;  this  person  foreclosed, 
and  I  was  bankrupt.  On  that  day  I  received  a 
letter  from  Fowler,  avowing  that  it  was  he  who  had 
been  secretly  acting  against  me  all  along,  and  who 
had  now  for  the  second  time  accomplished  my 
ruin.  This  letter  enlightened  me  as  to  various 
obscure  points  in  the  past.  I  went  to  seeGolding. 

"  He  received  me  alone  in  his  private  office.  I 
began  to  tell  him  that  I  had  fought  to  the  end,  and 
had  been  defeated,  but  he  interrupted  me.  '  I 
know  all  about  it,'  he  said.  '  I  told  you,  if  you 
thought  you  could  succeed,  to  go  ahead  ;  but  you 
have  had  a  practical  lesson  that  money  can  do 
more  than  abstract  morality.  It  was  I  who  fought 
you  and  beat  you.  I  used  the  methods  that  are 
customary  in  such  cases,  and  they  were  effectual, 
as  they  always  are.  Neither  you  nor  any  man  can 
make  way  against  them.' 

"  '  And  you  have  employed  this  fellow  Fowler— 
my  personal  enemy,  a  wretch— 

"  '  I  know  nothing  about  Fowler's  relations  with 
you,'  he  interrupted  me,  '  and  I  have  made  no  in 
quiries  as  to  his  private  character.  He  was  the 
sort  of  person  I  needed  for  the  job,  and  I  employed 
him.  He  did  his  work  well,  and  has  been  well 
paid  for  it.  If  you  want  to  put  a  bullet  through 
him,  or  prosecute  him  for  libel,  you  are  welcome  to 
do  it.  I  have  no  further  concern  about  him.  But 


A    TALE  OF    THE   CITY.  1 17 

I  have  something  else  to  suggest,  which  I  think 
will  suit  you  better.' 

"'What  is  it?'  I  asked. 

"  Then  he  unfolded  to  me  his  scheme  of  a  great 
industrial  enterprise,  to  be  controlled  secretly  by 
himself,  but  ostensibly  by  a  board  of  managers  ; 
and  of  this  board  he  offered  me  the  presidency. 
'  I  make  you  the  offer,'  he  said,  '  partly  to  show 
you  that  I  have  no  personal  feeling  against  you, 
and  that  I  wish  you  well,  and  that  in  this  fight  I 
have  attacked  what  you  stand  for,  and  not  you  ; 
and  if  you  got  hurt,  it  was  because  you  stood  up 
too  obstinately.  But  the  chief  reason  for  my  offer 
is  that  you  are  the  man  most  suitable  for  the  posi 
tion.  Your  name,  in  spite  of  the  innuendos  that 
have  been  thrown  upon  it,  is  still  of  great  influence, 
and  will  gain  the  confidence  of  the  kind  of  people 
we  wish  to  get  hold  of.  I  have  calculated  that 
your  help  will  be  worth  fifty  thousand  a  year  tome, 
and  that  will  be  the  amount  of  your  salary.  The 
main  lines  of  the  policy  to  be  pursued  will  be  laid 
down  by  me  ;  but  you  will  have  full  liberty  as  re 
gards  details.  You  can  do  a  great  deal  of  good  in 
your  own  way — more  than  you  will  ever  be  able  to 
do  otherwise.  Do  you  accept  ? ' 

"  '  No,'  I  said,  *  I  can  not  accept  it.' 

"  *  Remember,'  he  said,  *  that  I  am  not  inviting 
you  out  of  friendship.  I  don't  consider  that  I  owe 
you  any  reparation  or  apology  for  having  defeated 
and  ruined  you.  We  are  both  soldiers,  in  our  dif 
ferent  ways,  and  all  is  fair  in  war.  I  invite  you 


"8  A    TALE   OF    THE   CITY. 

for  practical  business  reasons.  Your  name  and 
reputation  will  be  useful  to  me.  If  it  were  not  so 
— if  you  were  unknown  or  forgotten — I  would  not 
offer  you  so  much  as  a  clerkship  at  twenty  dollars 
a  month — not  if  you  were  the  Angel  Gabriel,  and 
had  saved  my  life.  There  is  the  offer,  to  take  or 
leave.  You  will  never  get  such  a  chance  again. 
Think  of  all  it  implies.  Come,  General,  oblige 
me  ! — take  it  !  ' 

"  I  felt  at  that  moment  how  strong  and  almost  irre 
sistible  he  was.  He  was  offering  to  pay  me  for  the 
honest  reputation  which  I  should  betray  by  taking 
his  money,  and  yet,  instead  of  being  angry,  it  was 
all  I  could  do  to  refrain  from  yielding -to  him. 
But  I  did  refrain  ;  and  when  he  saw  that  I  was 
firm,  he  smiled,  and  ceased  to  urge  me.  'I'm 
sorry,'  he  said,  'but  you  will  gain  nothing  by  your 
refusal,  except  poverty  and  your  own  self-satisfac 
tion.  I  shall  get  another  man,  as  like  you  as  pos 
sible,  to  fill  the  place  you  might  have  had.  That's 
all.  I'm  busy.  Good-by,  Weymouth." 

"'Good -by,'  I  said,  and  I  walked  out  ;  and  I 
have  not  seen  Golding  since  then,  until  to-day. 
And  so,  at  last,  Miss  Clive,  in  a  very  roundabout 
way,  I  come  to  the  point  of  my  story. 

"  I  went  to  him  this  morning.  He  recognized 
me  at  once,  and  greeted  me  as  if  we  had  parted 
but  a  day  before.  I  told  him  that  I  had  been  liv 
ing  during  the  past  years  in  retirement  and  on 
very  limited  means  ;  but  that  latterly  circumstances 
had  arisen  which  made  me  desire  to  secure  a  larger 


A    TALE   OF   THE   CITY.  119 

income.  I  told  him  that  I  had  become  deeply  and 
tenderly  interested  in  a  young  lady  " — here  the 
General's  voice  grew  deeper  and  gentler — "  and 
that  although  I  was  no  longer  young,  but  an  old  and 
broken  man,  I  should  make  bold  to  ask  her  to  be 
my  wife.  I  said  that  I  came  to  him  as  to  the  larg 
est  employer  of  labor  in  America,  and  therefore 
the  man  most  likely  to  have  positions  at  his  dis 
posal.  Would  he  give  me  something  to  do? 

"  He  said  :  <  The  last  time  I  saw  you  I  offered 
you  a  place  worth  fifty  thousand  a  year.' 

"  *  You  did,'  I  answered  :  '  but  you  asked  too 
much  in  return  for  the  money.' 

"  '  That  may  be  true,'  he  said.  '  I  always  try  to 
get  the  best  of  a  bargain.  Well,  you  refused  it, 
and  that  is  the  end  of  it,  isn't  it  ? ' 

"  '  I  had  no  thought  of  any  position  of  that  kind; 
my  requirements  will  be  very  small,'  I  told  him. 

"  He  looked  at  me  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
said,  "  I  can  do  nothing  for  you,  Weymouth.  You 
come  to  me  on  a  matter  of  business,  and  I  answer 
you  as  a  business  man.  You  have  been  living  in 
retirement  for  ten  years  or  more.  You  have  be 
come  entirely  forgotten.  Except  for  your  honor 
able  reputation  for  integrity  and  high  principle, 
you  never  were  worth  any  thing  in  practical  affairs. 
As  I  told  you  long  ago,  it  was  for  your  reputation 
for  integrity  and  high  principle  that  I  was  willing 
to  pay.  But  now  that  you  and  your  reputation  - 
have  lapsed  into  oblivion,  you  are  worth  nothing  at 
all  to  me.  I  don't  say  it  harshly,  or  with  any  feel- 


120  A    TALE   OF    THR   CITY. 

ing  one  way  or  the  other  ;  I  only  tell  you  a  fact 
And  if  I  wanted  to  advise  you  I  should  say,  Don't 
get  married,  and  don't  try,  at  your  age,  to  begin 
any  new  employment.' 

"  I  said  nothing,  but  got  up  to  go.  *  Wait  a 
moment,'  he  said.  '  Now  that  the  business  part  of 
our  interview  is  over,  I  am  free  to  talk  to  you  as 
between  man  and  man.  I  always  liked  you,  Wey- 
mouth,  and  I  believe  you  are  a  good  fellow,  though 
your  theories  and  schemes  for  improving  the  con 
dition  of  things  are  all  wrong  and  foolish.  If  you 
will  accept  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  from  me 
as  a  free  gift,  you  are  welcome  to  have  it.'  He 
opened  a  check-book  and  added,  '  Say  the  word, 
and  here  it  is  !  ' 

"  I  can't  put  myself  under  an  obligation  to  you," 
I  told  him. 

"  'Well,  then,'  he  said,  'I'll  make  out  the  check 
to  the  lady  you  want  to  marry.  What  is  her 
name? ' 

"  '  Not  that,  either,'  I  answered,  '  I  do  not  know 
whether  she  would  have  me  for  her  husband  ;  and 
if  she  did  I  could  not  ask  her  to  accept  money  in 
that  way.' 

"  '  Very  well,'  he  said,  <  that's  all  I  can  do,' — and 
so,  Miss  Clive,"  added  the  General,  "  I  left  him, 
and  here  I  am.  I  see,  now,  that  I  have  acted  fool 
ishly  throughout.  But  I  loved  you,  and  I  wished 
•to  add  something  to  your  life  ;  and  I  thought  that 
if  I  could  make  an  income  sufficient  to  support 
you  in  comfort  you  would  perhaps  consent  to  let 


A    TALE   OP   THE   CITY.  121 

the  close  of  my  life  be  brightened  and  sweetened 
by  your  companionship.  It  would  have  been  hap 
piness  to  me  to  work  for  you,  or  to  do  anything  for 
you.  But  love  made  a  fool  of  me  ;  and  I  should  be 
glad  rather  than  sorry  that  my  mission  to  Golding 
was  a  failure.  It  saves  you  the  pain  of  saying  that 
you  can  not  care  for  me.  You  must  forgive  me  for 
having  indulged  myself  in  the  luxury  of  telling  you, 
in  words  as  well  as  by  behavior  and  implication, 
that  I  love  you  and  shall  always  love  you.  That 
other  love  was  not  like  this  ;  it  was  of  the  eye,  not 
of  the  mind  and  soul."  He  paused  a  moment,  and 
then  said,  "  She  died  a  year  ago." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

OUT    OF    JOINT. 

|  NEVER  expected  to  hear  such  words  from 
1  any  man  as  you  have  spoken  to  me,  Gen 
eral  Weymouth,"  said  Kitty.  "  I  am  not  a  girl  that 
men  fall  in  love  with.  I  am  liked,  not  loved.  You 
are  the  only  man  that  has  ever  loved  me,  and  I  am 
proud  to  know  that  a  man  like  you  can  give  me  his 
love.  It  makes  me  feel  that  I  am  not  apart  from 
other  women,  as  I  fancied  myself  to  be  before. 
But  I  can  not  marry  you,  dear  General  Weymouth  ; 
I  shall  never  marry  any  one." 

"  You  are  too  young  to  say  '  never,'  "  returned 
the  General,  with  a  sad  smile. 

"  Not  young  in  the  sense  you  mean,"  she  said. 
"  I  have  not  had  the  usual  life  of  a  young  woman 
of  my  station.  I  have  not  always  met  with  kind 
ness  or  with  justice.  My  mother  died  early,  and 
my  father's  second  wife  was  my  enemy.  I  never 
told  him  of  her  conduct  to  me,  because  he  thought 
her  perfection,  and  I  would  not  undeceive  him  ; 
but,  if  I  kept  my  thoughts  and  feelings  to  myself, 
I  thought  and  felt  them  all  the  more  deeply  ;  and 
they  were  not  all  of  the  kind  that  are  supposed  to 


OUT  OF  JOINT,  123 

belong  to  Christian  children.     I  am  not  a  Christian, 
General  Weymouth." 

"  The  creed  is  not  every  thing,"  he  replied.  "  You 
are  good,  and  generous,  and  high-minded." 

"  I  am  good  and  generous  to  those  who  are  so  to 
me  ;  but  I  do  not  forgive  those  who  do  me  evil. 
And  that  is  not  all  ;  for,  since  you  have  given  me 
your  confidence,  you  have  a  right  to  mine.  I  be 
lieve  in  retaliation  and  in  maintaining  your  rights 
by  violence,  if  fair  means  will  not  do.  If  I  had 
been  in  your  place,  I  would  not  have  acted  as  you 
did." 

"  If  there  was  any  magnanimity  in  my  acts,  they 
were  what  yours  would  have  been." 

"No!"  she  said,  with  an  emphasis  that  her 
interlocutor  was  hardly  prepared  for.  "  No  ;  I  am 
not  magnanimous  !  Let  those  who  are  secure  and 
prosperous  be  so  !  I  would  have  defied  that  man 
and  challenged  him  to  do  his  worst.  But  I  would 
have  made  myself  more  terrible  to  him  than  he  was 
to  me.  I  would  have  hunted  him  through  the 
world,  and  made  his  life  worse  than  death  to  him. 
I  would  have  found  out  what  he  the  most  cared  for 
—every  human  being  cares  for  something — and  I 
would  have  struck  him  through  that,  as  he  struck 
at  you.  I  would  never  have  relented  or  spared 
him  one  suffering  that  I  could  inflict.  What  is  your 
name,  your  social  standing,  any  thing,  compared 
with  the  pleasure  of  making  those  who  have 
wronged  you  curse  the  day  when  they  first  crossed 
your  path  ?  And  as  for  that  woman  who  deceived 


124  OUT  OF  JOINT. 

you,  she  was  more  unpardonable  than  he  !  Only  a 
woman  ean  realize  the  wickedness  that  that  woman 
perpetrated.  You  should  have  cast  her  off  pub- 
licly  and  unconditionally.  You  should  have  driven 
her  out  of  society  and  out  of  the  world  !  Why,  see 
what  results  your  weakness  caused — your  merci 
fulness  and  magnanimity,  if  such  it  be  !  The  man, 
your  enemy,  with  the  money  he  had  extorted  from 
you,  hounded  you  out  of  your  public  career,  and 
prevented  all  the  good  that  your  principles,  put  in 
practice,  would  have  accomplished.  Was  that 
worth  while,  for  the  sake  of  sparing  a  worthless 
creature  who  never  had  a  thought  or  an  emotion 
that  was  not  base  and  selfish  ?  And  this  man 
Golding,  whom  you  find  so  nearly  irresistible — I 
would  be  no  friend  of  him  either.  He  is  strong, 
but  depend  upon  it  there  are  weak  points  in  his 
armor  too  !  You  should  have  fought  him  to 
death,  with  every  weapon  that  ingenuity  or  desper 
ation  could  devise.  There  should  be  no  half 
measures  in  this  life  ;  its  rewards,  such  as  they  are, 
belong  only  to  those  who  realize  that  it  is  all  a 
battle,  and  who  throw  themselves  into  it  body, 
heart,  and  soul.  These  gentle,  forgiving  ways  are 
good  to  write  of  in  books,  but  they  never  bring 
about  any  thing  that  is  real  and  can  last.  Who  is 
Mr.  Golding  that  you  should  submit  to  be  defeated 
by  him  ?  How  should  he  dare  to  treat  a  man  like 
you  with  good-natured  contempt,  as  he  did  this 
morning?  You  allow  him  to  do  it  ;  and  you  are 
to  blame  !  " 


OUT  OF  JOINT.  125 

The  general  was  silenced  and  amazed  by  this  pas 
sionate  and  destructive  criticism.  He  had  been 
aware  that  Kitty  Clive  had  pregnant  depths  in  her 
character,  but  he  little  imagined  what  strange 
things  were  to  be  found  beneath  the  surface.  He 
felt  the  force  and  poignancy  of  many  of  her  decla 
rations,  but  he  also  felt  that  they  were  the  outcome 
of  quite  another  mind  and  temperament  than  his, 
and  that  he  could  never  hope  to  adopt  them  him 
self.  Be  that  as  it  might,  he  was  conscious  that 
the  mental  stature  of  the  woman  had  immensely 
expanded  to  his  apprehension  within  the  last  few 
minutes  ;  and  his  love  for  her  underwent  a  corres 
ponding  development.  He  had  heretofore  re 
garded  her  as  a  girl  possessed  of  a  nature  rich  in 
quality  and  of  great  possibilities  ;  now  he  saw  her 
a  woman  of  original  thought  and  experience,  who 
had  worked  out  her  own  convictions  of  what  life 
meant  and  needed,  and  had  the  courage  and  ability 
to  act  up  to  them.  To  stand  in  the  most  intimate 
relation  to  such  a  being  as  this  would  be  some 
thing  more  than  mere  happiness  ;  it  would  be 
exhilaration  and  elevation.  He  looked  at  her 
with  kindling  eyes. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  you  will  never  marry  ?  " 
he  demanded. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  she  answered  ;  "  but  I  tell  it  to 
you  alone,  and  it  must  never  be  told  again.  I  will 
marry  no  one,  because  I  can  not  marry  the  man  I 
Jove." 

"You  love  some  one,  then?"  the  General  bent 


126  OUT  OF  JOINT. 

his  head  to  hide  the  twinge  of  the  heart  that  was 
made  visible  in  his  face.  Presently  he  looked  up 
and  added,  "  Why  can't  you  marry  him  ?  " 

"  Because  he  doesn't  know  that  I  love  him  ;  and, 
even  if  he  did,  he  would  never  love  me." 

"  Can  it  be  possible  !  "  returned  the  General. 
"  You  love  him — and  he  doesn't  love  you  !  Can  it 
be  possible  !  " 

"  And  so  you  have  your  revenge,"  she  added  with 
a  quaint  smile. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Clive,  my  happiness  does  not  lie  in 
revenges.  If  I  could  bring  about  your  marriage 
with  this  gentleman — he  must  be  worthy  since  you 
care  for  him — I  am  sure  I  would  do  it.  There 
can  not  be  any  thing  more  than  some  accidental 
blindness — some  pre-occupation  that  the  least 
hint  would  remove — that  delays  him  from  falling 
at  your  feet." 

"  If  his  blindness  were  only  physical  and  per 
manent,"  returned  Kitty,  with  a  laugh,  "  I  should 
have  better  hopes.  But  it  is  not  every  man, 
General  Weymouth,  who  can  forget  the  outside  in 
looking  at  what  is  within.  Besides,  this  gentleman 
is  a  distant  cousin  of  mine,  and  the  familiarities  of 
cousinship — well,  it  is  like  a  child  eating  too  much 
bread  before  dinner  ;  he  becomes  indifferent.  But, 
after  all,  it  doesn't  matter  ;  it  is  better  as  it  is.  I 
would  rather  imagine  what  marriage  might  be  than 
risk  proving  what  it  is.  If  he  were  to  love  and  marry 
me,  and  then  become  tired  of  me — ah  !  then  !  " 

The  last  words  were  spoken  below  her  breath, 


OUT  OF  JOINT.  127 

but  with  an  emphasis  that  left  nothing  unex 
pressed. 

"  That  could  never  be.  He  might  never  awaken 
to  what  you  are  ;  but,  having  done  so,  he  could  never 
fall  back  again,"  said  the  General,  with  conviction. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  you  don't  realize  how  ugly  I  am  ;  and 
you  don't  know  how  jealous  and  despotic  I  should 
be — as  a  wife.  It  is  better  as  it  is  ;  I  have  no 
rights,  and  can  therefore  claim  none.  My  love  can 
be  wholly  unselfish.  It  is  sweet  to  know  that  it 
will  always  be  a  secret  from  him.  He  will  feel  the 
effects,  and  yet  never  know  whence  they  come.  In 
many  ways  I  can  give  him  happiness  ;  and  to  see 
him  happy  will  be  better  than  any  gratitude  he 
could  render  to  me.  I  am  content  with  my  state. 
Beautiful  women  have  their  power,  their  triumph, 
but  it  is  a  shallow  one.  It  is  a  house  built  upon 
sand.  The  winds  and  waters  of  time  and  chance 
will  destroy  it.  There  can  be  no  such  calamity  in 
store  for  me.  What  there  is  of  me  is  founded  upon  a 
rock,  and  can  never  be  overthrown." 

"  I  can  do  nothing,  then,"  said  the  General, 
sadly. 

"  You  have  done  a  great  deal.  If  a  woman's 
heart  were  in  her  brain — and  some  women's  are — 
life  would  be  much  more  comfortable.  I  can  rec 
ognize,  with  my  brain,  that  you  are  more  worthy 
of  love  than  this  man  who  does  not  love  me.  He 
might  speak  with  more  passion  than  you  ;  but  he 
could  not  express  such  depth  and  nobility  of  affec 
tion — he  could  not  feel  it  !  Yes,  I  can  see  that  he 


128  OUT  OF  JOINT. 

is  not  worthy  of  such  love  as  I  give  hinj  ;  but  who  is 
worthy  of  love  ?  It  is  something  divine  and  in 
finite,  coming  through  us  mortal  and  finite 
creatures,  but  not  of  us.  I  am  no  more  worthy  of 
your  love  than  he  of  mine  ;  but  it  glorifies  me  to 
know  that  I  have  it,  and  gives  me  more  strength  to 
— forgive  me — to  love  him  !  " 

"  That  feels  cruel,"  said  the  General,  drawing  his 
breath  between  his  teeth  with  a  little  gasp,  "  but  I 
know  that  it  is  true — and  kind."  He  rose  to  his 
feet,  and  glanced  here  and  there  about  the  room. 
"  As  to  those  radical  opinions  of  yours,  my  dear 
child,"  he  added,  in  a  more  composed  tone,  "  they 
are  not  vital  nor  lasting.  The  strands  of  your 
nature  have  been  twisted  awry,  and  the  harmony  is 
broken  for  a  time.  But  the  truth  and  goodness  in 
you  are  stronger  than  any  evil  influence  and  will 
finally  prevail  You  can  not  make  your  own  rights 
and  wrongs  the  criterion  of  the  justice  of  God's 
universe.  All  tragedies  are  partial  and  frag 
mentary.  The  longer  the  arc  of  experience,  the 
more  does  sunshine  prevail  in  it." 

"  Shall  you  stop  coming  to  see  me  because  of 
this  ?"  Kitty  asked. 

"  Not  unless  you  wish  it,"  he  replied.  "  I  can  not 
be  cured  by  absence,  and  I  can  promise  you  that 
you  shall  not  be  harassed  by  regrets  and  entreaties. 
I  feel  that  your  attitude  towards  me  is  final." 

"  Then  come  often,"  she  said,  giving  him  her 
hand.  "  Perhaps  I  shall  be  worthier  of  your  friend 
ship  if  I  know  that  I  possess  it," 


OUT  OF  JOINT.  129 

When  the  General  had  gone  Kitty  sat  down  at 
her  piano  and  touched  the  chords  and  sang.  She 
sang  without  words,  as  the  wind  sings  in  the  ^Eolian 
harp  ;  but  the  rise  and  fall  and  changes  of  her 
voice  expressed  her  mood  to  herself  as  only  music 
can  express  it.  And  perhaps  a  great  composer, 
listening  to  her,  might  have  divined  more  of  the 
secrets  of  her  heart  and.  soul  than  any  human 
speech,  even  her  own,  could  have  told  him. 

In  the  course  of  an  hour,  Frank  Cunliffe  came 
in.  She  did  not  leave  the  piano,  but  turned  her 
head  and  smiled  a  greeting  to  him  over  her 
shoulder,  while  her  fingers  still  wandered  over  the 
keys. 

"You  always  seem  to  be  enjoying  yourself." 
Frank  remarked,  as  he  threw  himself  down  in  a 
chair  near  her.  "  Nothing  ever  troubles  you  or 
depresses  you.  I  believe  a  little  misery  would  do 
you  good." 

"  No  misery  amounts  to  any  thing,  if  your  diges 
tion  is  right  and  your  circulation  in  good  order," 
she  answered.  "  Eating,  sleeping,  and  exercise 
make  happiness." 

"  Ah  !  that's  all  you  know.  I  wish  you  could 
have  some  desperate  love-affair,  or  lose  your  voice, 
or  something." 

"  Why,  what  now,  cousin  ?  "  she  said,  still  play 
ing  with  the  keys.  "  Is  it  you  who  are  in  love  at 
last  ?  or  is  it  still  your  lost  income  that  you  are 
lamenting  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you'd  let  that  piano  alone  and  be  sensi- 


*3°  OUT  O 

ble,"  he  exclaimed,  with  an   aggrieved*  air.     "  You 
are  becoming  quite  frivolous  !  " 

"  Would  you  have  me  shiver  at  the  Equator,  or 
perspire  at  the  Pole?  I  am  in  Rome,  and  I  am  as 
the  Romans  are." 

"  If  I  am  as  the  Romans,  it  must  be  at  the  period 
of  the  Decline  and  Fall,"  said  Frank.  "  My  posi 
tion  in  the  world  has  never  been  one  of  such  bril 
liance  that  Fate  need  have  grown  envious  of  me  ; 
but  it  seems  as  if  I  had  taken  a  turn  and  was  to 
go  downward  from  now  on.  It  is  not  my  digestion 
that  disorders  my  affairs  ;  it  is  my  affairs  that 
disorder  my  digestion." 

"  Has  any  thing  new  happened  ?  "  she  asked, 
leaving  the  piano  and  going  over  to  the  fire-place, 
where  she  leaned  with  one  arm  on  the  mantel 
piece. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  I'm  half  inclined  to 
think  that  something  or  other  is  going  on,  having 
me  for  its  object  ;  but  I  can't  find  out  what  it  is, 
and  perhaps  it  is  only  my  morbid  and  bilious  con 
dition  that  puts  it  into  my  head.  It's  a  nuisance, 
all  the  same." 

"  Something  going  on  ?  What  sort  of  a  some 
thing?" 

"  Well,  I  have  a  notion  that  I  am  being  followed 
or  watched.  I  have  heard  that  that  is  the  way  a 
man  feels  when  he  is  going  insane.  It's  the  first 
symptom  of  melancholia.  Have  I  committed  some 
crime,  without  being  aware  of  it  ?  or  am  I  watched 
to  see  whether  I  intend  to  commit  one  ?  or  am  I 


OUT  OF  JOINT.  131 

the  victim  of  a  new    form    of  delirium  tremens, 

derived  from  drinking  the  cup  of  mortification  to  the 

dregs  ?     I  can't  understand  it." 

"  Nonsense,  Frank  !  Take  a  run  round  the  block, 

and  clear  the  cob  webs  out  of  your  brain  !  who  would 

want  to  follow  you,  or  watch  you  either  ?     I  never 

heard  such  a  conceited  idea !  " 

"  Oh,  detectives  don't  follow  one  because  he  is 

beautiful  or  lovely." 

"  Detectives  !  what  next  ?  " 
"  Look  out  of  the  window." 
kitty    laughed,  walked    across    the    room,  and 
standing  within  the  shadow  of  the  curtain  glanced 
up  and  down  the  street.     A  thaw  had  set  in,  the 
sidewalks  were  wet  and   sloppy,  and  the  roadway  a 
slough  of  dirty  snow.     A  man,  with  his  coat-collar 
turned   up  to  his  ears,  and   his  hands  thrust  in  his 
side-pockets,  was  plodding  up  the  street.     He  was 
smoking  a  short  pipe,  and  looked  like  a  specimen 
of  the  American  working-man  out  of  a  job.     At  the 
corner  of  the  adjoining  avenue  there  was  a  tobacco 
shop,  the    show-window    of  which    was    rendered 
gorgeous  by  the  colored  pictures  of  young  women 
in  airy  costumes  celebrating  the  virtues  of  nicotine. 
The  man  stopped  in  front  of  this  window,  and  stood 
for  a  while  in  apparent  admiration  of  its  scenic  dis 
play  ;  then,  instead  of  passing  onwards,  he  turned 
round  and  started  back  down    the  street.     After 
having     passed    some    distance     beyond    Kitty's 
window,  he  paused  again,  knocked  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe  against  a  lamp-post,  and  began  hunting  in 


I32  OUT  OF  JOIA'7\ 

his  pockets  as  if  for  tobacco.  None  being  forth 
coming,  he  slowly  retraced  his  steps  to  the  tobac 
conist's,  and  this  time  entered  the  shop.  Kitty 
returned  to  the  fire-place. 

"Well,  did  you  see  any  thing?"  Frank  inquired, 
looking  up  from  a  brown  study. 

"  What  I  always  see  when  I  look  out  of  window 
— the  street,  and  people  in  it." 

"  One  of  those  people  is  after  me.  I  don't  know 
which  one  it  is,  and  I  don't  think  it's  always  the 
same  one  ;  but  every  once  in  a  while  I  turn  round, 
and  meet  the  eyes  of  some  one  looking  at  me.  He 
looks  away  immediately,  and  passes  along,  and 
that's  the  end  of  it  ;  but  by  and  by,  again,  there  is 
a  pair  of  eyes  looking  at  me.  Yes,  you  may  say 
it's  imagination  ;  so  I  told  myself  at  first  ;  but  why 
was  I  never  afflicted  with  this  particular  vagary  of 
imagination  before  ?  I  repeat,  it's  a  nuisance." 

"  Have  you  committed  any  crime  ? "  asked 
Kitty,  looking  him  in  the  face. 

"  No  ;  nothing  worse  than  usual.  But  I  shall, 
before  long,  if  for  no  other  reason,  just  to  bring 
this  mystery  to  a  head,  and  find  out  what  is  at  the 
bottom  of  it." 

"  Don't  be  uneasy,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Kitty, 
bending  over  him  and  laying  her  hand  for  a  mo 
ment  on  his  shoulder.  "  I  have  a  presentiment 
that  all  will  be  well  with  you  before  long." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


IN    THE    WOODS. 

((  T  FANCY  you  were  right,  Inspector,"  said  Cap- 
1  tain  Hamilton,  as  the  two  sat  in  a  retired  res 
taurant  down-town,  partaking  of  a  temperate  lunch 
eon.  "  There  is  nothing  against  Cowran,  except 
his  old  quarrel  with  Golding,  and  that  matter  of  the 
secret  papers  ;  but  neither  of  these  is  inconsistent 
with  his  entire  innocence.  On  the  contrary,  if  he 
had  wanted  to  injure  Golding  he  would  unques 
tionably  have  published  those  papers  ;  and  if  he  had 
wished  to  blackmail  him  he  would  have  extorted 
money  by  the  threat  of  publishing  them." 

"  What  reason  for  returning  the  papers  does  he 
put  forward  ?  "  the  Inspector  asked. 

"  A  reason  so  commonplace  that  it  seems  unlikely 
so  clever  a  man  would  have  invented  it.  I  mean 
that  it's  too  commonplace  not  to  be  true." 

"  How  did  you  induce  him  to  give  it  ? " 

"  By  taking  up  the  thread  of  a  former  conversa 
tion  I  had  with  him  about  Golding.  You  recollect 
my  telling  you  in  what  bitter  and  violent  terms  he 
had  spoken  of  him  ?  Well,  I  found  a  pretext  for 
introducing  his  name  again,  and  remarked  that  I 


*34  IN   THE    WOODS. 

thought  he  (Cowran)  did  him  less  than  justice. 
After  a  little  talk,  he  said " 

"  Give  the  conversation  exactly  as  it  occurred," 
interrupted  Inspector  Byrnes. 

"  Very  well,  sir.  Cowran  replied  to  my  remark 
that  of  course  I  was  at  liberty  to  form  my  own 
opinion  ;  and  wanted  to  know  who  had  been  set 
ting  me  right  in  the  matter. 

"  I  told  him  that  my  impression  was  at  first  hand. 
I  had  been  casually  introduced  to  Golding  by 
a  partner  or  business  associate  of  his,  Mr. 
Courtlandt  Owens,  and  had  had  a  long  chat  with 
him. 

"  '  I  don't  say  he  can't  make  himself  agreeable,' 
Cowran  said.  '  He  would  be  a  much  less  danger 
ous  man  if  he  could  not.' 

"  I  said,  '  So  far  as  I  was  concerned,  he  was 
simply  polite,  and  nothing  more.  I  was  thinking  of 
what  he  said  of  you.'  " 

"  Cowran  looked  surprised  and  said,  'What  did  he 
say  of  me  ? ' 

" '  Your  name  was  mentioned — by  Owens  I 
think — '  said  I,  '  and  Golding  observed  that  he  had 
once  known  you  well,  and  that  you  were  a  man  of 
great  ability — that  there  was  no  better  lawyer  in 
New  York.  But  he  said  there  had  been  a  mis 
understanding  on  your  part  about  some  action  of 
his  on  the  street,  and  that  you  had  quarreled  with 
him.  It  was  when  they  had  been  bulling  the  price 
of  gold,  and  the  government  had  suddenly  bought 
largely,  and  the  price  fell  like  a  man  out  of  a 


IN   THE    WOODS.  135 

balloon.  Golding  had  to  unload,  and  there  was  no 
time  to  go  round  and  warn  friends.  '  He  has 
never  forgiven  you,'  said  Owens.  '  I  am  not  sure 
about  that,  either,'  said  Golding,  '  and  I'll  tell  you 
why.  At  the  time  Cowran,  as  my  confidential 
lawyer,  had  in  his  possession  some  documents 
belonging  to  me  of  a  somewhat  delicate  character; 
I  had  forgotten  that  he  had  them,  and  nothing 
more  was  heard  of  them  until  a  few  days  ago. 
Then  I  received  them  from  him  in  a  packet,  by  a 
special  messenger.  It  was  a  courteous  and  con 
siderate  act.' 

" '  That  certainly  doesn't  look  like  bearing 
malice,1  Owens  said  ;  and  then  Golding  went  on 
and  said  a  number  of  complimentary  things  about 
you.  I  had  half  a  mind,  just  for  fun,  to  tell  him 
some  of  the  remarks  you  had  made  about  him  a 
few  days  before  ;  but  I  didn't  !  ' 

"  Cowran  listened  to  all  that  coolly,  and  gave  a 
grunt,  but  said  nothing  ;  so  I  added,  '  I  suppose 
you  were  putting  up  a  joke  on  me,  and  didn't  mean 
what  you  said.  It  isn't  likely  you'd  do  a  man  such 
a  favor  as  that  if  you  really  thought  ill  of  him.' 

"'I  don't  see  any  particular  favor  about  it,' 
Cowran  answered.  '  It  was  just  common  honesty, 
neither  more  nor  less.  I  happened  to  be  thinking 
about  that  old  lawsuit  one  day,  and  remembered  the 
papers.  I  asked  my  clerk  about  them,  and  he  said 
they  were  in  the  deed-box.  I  got  them  out,  had 
copies  made  of  them,  and  sent  the  originals  to  him. 
They  belonged  to  him,  and  I  had  no  use  for  them.' 


136  IN   THE    WOODS. 

'  Then  what  did  you  want  of  a  copy,  of  them?'  I 
asked.  *  As  a  matter  of  record  and  protection,  of 
course,'  he  said.  '  Golding  might  say  that  they 
had  come  into  my  possession  unlawfully  ;  but  the 
copy  proves  that  I  received  them  at  a  time 
and  in  circumstances  which  preclude  any  such  pos 
sibility.'  That  was  his  story,"  added  Captain 
Hamilton:  "and  for  my  part  I  don't  see  any  more 
natural  way  of  explaining  it." 

"  Was  his  manner  as  natural  as  his  explana 
tion  ?  "  demanded  the  Inspector. 

"  Every  bit  ;  that  was  the  most  convincing  part 
of  it." 

"  What  have  you  done  about  Cunliffe  ?  " 

"  I  have  made  out  a  very  strong  presumption 
against  him  ;  not  enough  to  convict,  by  any  means, 
but  enough  to  work  on  for  a  conviction.  It  seems 
he  lost  a  lot  of  money  a  month  or  more  ago,  specu 
lating  in  Golding  stocks." 

"  You  are  certain  of  that  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  it  from  his  brokers.  It  was  about 
twenty  thousand.  It  must  have  been  pretty  nearly 
all  he  had," 

"  Does  he  consider  Golding  responsible  for  it  ?  " 

"  I  fancy  he  thinks  Golding  could  make  it  good 
without  inconvenience,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  No  ;  that  is  only  a  plausible  motive.  It  is 
strengthened  by  the  fact  that  he  is  on  terms  of  close 
friendship  with  a  girl — an  opera  singer  or  some 
thing  of  that  kind — whom  he  brought  out  and 


IN   THE    WOODS.  137 

started  on  her  career.  So  far  as  can  be  learned, 
there  is  nothing  against  her  private  character  ;  so 
that,  supposing  him  to  contemplate  marriage,  he 
would  have  double  need  of  money :— at  least 
double  !  "  added  the  captain,  with  an  arch  smile. 

"  The  fact  that  he  speculated  also  works  that 
way,"  commented  the  Inspector.  «  If  he  is  not  in  the 
habit  of  it,  he  Js  likely  to  have  had  some  special 
reason  ;  and  the  prospect  of  getting  married  would 
be  urgent  enough." 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  the  captain,  «  here  is  the 
other  fact.  On  the  day  before  that  letter  was  writ 
ten  referring  to  the  secret  papers,  Cunliffe  spent 
the  evening  at  John  Talbot's  house  ;  and  Miss 
Claverhouse,  the  type-writer  at  Cowran's,  was 
there  too.  She  had  made  the  copy  of  the  papers 
that  very  day  ;  and  it  is  at  least  possible  that  she 
being  a  rather  talkative  young  person,  may  have 
t  fall  enough  to  give  Cunliffe  the  hint  that  the 
letter  contained.  That  comes  in  rather  neatlv  I 
think  !  " 

"  It  is  well  pieced  together,"  said  the  Inspector 
musingly;  -and  yet,  somehow,  it  doesn't  give  me 
the  feeling  I  sometimes  have  of  being  certainly  on 
the  right  track.  The  tone  and  style  of  these  letters 
are  difficult  to  reconcile  with  either  Cowran  or  Cun 
liffe.  They  would  have  disguised  themselves  of 
course  ;  but  they  would  have  done  it,  to  my  way  of 
hmkmg,  in  some  other  way.  Does  Cunliffe  still 
seem  to  be  in  a  depressed  state  financially  ?  " 

4  As  to  his  financial  state,  I   can  only  speak  of 


ij8  IN   THE    WOODS, 

his  transactions  with  his  brokers.     But  he  certainly 
appears  very  low-spirited." 

"We  know,  however,  that  the  author  of  the  let 
ters  has  twice  speculated  successfully  on  Golding's 
recommendation,"  the  Inspector  said.  "  The  infor 
mation  was  given  to  him  through  the  press  in  the 
terms  of  the  cipher  he  selected,  and  he  has  written 
expressing  his  acknowledgments.  If  Cunliffe  is 
the  man,  he  ought  to  have  cheered  up  a  little." 

"  He  has  been  shadowed  constantly,"  Hamilton 
went  on,  "  but  has  not  been  seen  either  to  post  any 
letters  or  to  go  near  Wall  Street." 

"  Mind  you  don't  overdo  the  shadowing  business," 
the  Inspector  said.  "  Unless  I  am  mistaken  in  him, 
he  is  very  observant  and  sensitive,  and  if  he  were 
to  suspect  that  he  was  being  followed  all  would  go 
for  nothing.  Besides,  if  he  did  post  a  letter,  it 
would  prove  nothing,  unless  we  know  whom  it  was 
addressed  to.  As  for  his  not  visiting  Wall  Street, 
or  any  broker's  office  in  town,  for  that  matter,  I 
know  it  already  ;  my  arrangements  were  such  that 
if  the  speculations  in  Golding's  stocks  had  been 
executed  in  this  city,  I  should  have  been  informed 
of  it,  and  would  have  had  the  means  of  tracing  the 
operator." 

"  He  knew  enough  to  do  his  work  out  of  town, 
then?" 

"  Evidently." 

"  Well,  he's  a  clever  fellow.  But  wouldn't  it  be 
possible  to  get  sight  of  the  addresses  on  the  letters 


IN  THE    WOODS.  139 

(assuming  that  Cunliffe  is  the  man  we  want)  before 
he  posted  them  ?  " 

"  Possible  no  doubt,"  said  the  Inspector,  shrug- 
ing  his  shoulders. 

"  He  must  write  them  either  at  the  club  or  in 
his  own  rooms,"  resumed  the  other  ;  "and  in  either 
case  he  probably  dries  the  writing  with  blotting- 
paper.  Now,  the  address  on  the  envelope  is  gen 
erally  the  last  thing  written,  and  a  man  blots  it  im 
mediately,  before  putting  on  the  stamp.  I  have  the 
run  of  the  club,  and  though  I  have  never  been  up 
to  Cunliffe's  rooms,  I  could  get  there  without  much 
trouble.  If  I  could  find  a  single  piece  of  blotting- 
paper  with  Golding's  name  on  it,  the  thing  would 
be  as  good  as  settled." 

"  There  is  something  in  that  notion,"  the  Inspec 
tor  said,  "  and  it  has  sometimes  been  tried  success 
fully — especially  in  novels.  But  Mr.  Cunliffe  prob 
ably  reads  novels,  and  may  burn  his  blotting- 
paper  as  soon  as  he  has  used  it,  or  he  may  write  the 
letters  at  a  hotel,  or  at  the  office  of  an  acquaintance 
— perhaps  of  a  man  who  has  some  relations  with 
Golding  himself,  or  it  may  happen  that  Cunliffe  is 
one  of  those  men  who  guard  against  all  remote  and 
unlikely  contingencies,  and  don't  allow  for  the  obvi 
ous  ones  under  their  noses  ;  and  in  that  case  your 
plan  might  catch  him.  We  have  tried  a  good  many 
ways  now,  and  nothing  has  succeeded.  Unless  we 
mean  to  give  up  and  admit  ourselves  beaten,  we 
must  hit  upon  something  before  long.  Before 
many  days  it  will  be  too  late." 


14°  IN   THE    WOODS. 

"  How  so,  Inspector?  " 

"  The  fellow  will  have  got  all  he  can  venture  to 
take,  and  have  cleared  out.  He  has  probably  set 
out  to  net  a  certain  sum,  and  when  he  has  obtained 
it  he  will  quit.  He  knows  the  danger  he  is  run 
ning,  since  he  threw  off  the  mask  and  appeared  in 
his  true  colors  as  a  blackmailer.  We  may  find  out 
at  any  moment,  by  any  accident,  through  whom  he 
does  his  business,  and  then  he  is  lost.  He  will 
quit,  the  letters  will  stop,  and  we  shall  never  know 
who  he  is.  That  will  never  do  !  " 

"  How  would  it  do  to  invite  him  off  on  a  trip  some 
where — to  the  Hot  Sulphur  Springs,  say — and 
keep  him  under  my  eye  all  the  time.  It  could  be 
arranged  so  that  we  would  occupy  the  same  room 
and  be  constantly  together.  During  that  time " 

"  During  that  time,"  the  Inspector  interposed, 
"  aud  supposing  Cunliffe  to  be  the  man,  Mr.  Gold- 
ing  would  probably  not  receive  any  of  the  letters." 

The  Captain  handled  his  whiskers.  "  At  all 
events,"  he  said  at  length,  "  it  might  prove  a  nega 
tive.  If  Mr.  Golding  did  receive  a  letter  during 
that  time,  we  should  know  that  Cunliffe  didn't 
write  it." 

"  It  might  be  tried  with  this  addition,"  the  In 
spector  remarked,  after  a  moment's  thought.  "  Dur 
ing  your  trip  with  him,  we  might  insert  in  the  paper 
an  advertisement  so  worded  as  to  demand  an  im 
mediate  answer.  He  would  be  obliged  either  to 
answer  it  or  to  miss  an  important  opportunity. 
The  few  hours  during  which  his  answer  must  be 


IN    THE    ll'OODS.  141 

written  would  be  the  limit  of  the  time  you  would 
have  to  watch  him.  And  it  would  be  enough  if  you 
even  saw  him  post  a  letter,  without  knowing  any 
thing  about  the  address  of  it  ;  for  if  Golding  re 
ceived  a  letter  next  day  bearing  the  post-mark  of 
the  town  you  were  staying  in — it  would  be  an  awk 
ward  coincidence  for  Mr.  Cunliffe  !  " 

"  I  believe  you  have  hit  it  at  last,  Inspector  !  "  ex 
claimed  Captain  Hamilton,  his  eyes  sparkling. 
"  That  must  fetch  him— there's  no  way  out  of 
it  !  " 

"  There  are  two  ways  out  of  it,"  returned  the  In 
spector,  impassibly. 

"What  are  they?" 

"  The  first  is  that  if  Cunliife  is  not  the  man  the 
plan  will  come  to  nothing.  The  second  is  that  if 
he  is  the  man " 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  " 

"  Then  he  will  refuse  to  leave  New  York  in  your 
company,  or  in  fact  to  leave  it  at  all." 

Hamilton's  face  fell.  The  objection  was  well 
taken,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  escape  from  it. 

'  Never  mind,"  said  the  Inspector,  kindly, 
"though  we  haven't  yet  hit  upon  an  infallible 
method,  I  think  we  have  got  upon  the  right  track. 
The  solution  must  be  somewhere  in  this  direction, 
if  it's  anywhere.  Follow  up  that  line,  and  by  and 
by  you  will  get  there.  And  when  you  do,  depend 
upon  it  it  will  be  so  simple  you  will  wonder  you 
never  thought  of  it  before," 


I42  IN    THE    WOODS. 

"  What  shall  I  be  doing  in  the'  meanwhile  ?  " 
Hamilton  inquired. 

"  I  would  go  and  hear  that  young  lady  sing,  if  I 
were  you,"  replied  the  Inspector,  arising  from  the 
table  and  putting  on  his  hat. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

BOLTED. 

IT  was  Cunliffe's  habit  to  appear  at  the  club  about 
ten  o'clock  every  morning,  having  taken  his 
breakfast  of  coffee  and  eggs  in  his  rooms.  Like  a 
confirmed  club  man,  his  movements  gradually 
became  so  adjusted  to  one  another  that  any  one 
familiar  with  him  could  have  predicted  where  he 
could  be  found  morning,  noon,  and  night.  Men 
of  idle  lives,  who  live  in  one  place,  are  more  apt  to 
be  regular  in  this  way  then  men  of  affairs,  though 
the  springs  that  control  them  are  so  different. 

Captain  Hamilton,  therefore,  when  he  sauntered 
into  the  smoking-room  at  half. past  ten,  and,  having 
summoned  the  waiter  by  a  touch  upon  the  electric 
bell-knob,  had  ordered  a  cigar  and  a  cherry-soda — 
the  Captain,  I  say,  was  so  assured  that  Cunliffe 
was  sitting  in  the  second  window  from  the  door, 
reading  the  papers,  that  it  was  several  moments 
before  he  turned  in  that  direction  to  exchange  a 
passing  salute  with  him.  When  he  did  so,  he  saw 
only  a  vacant  chair.  Cunliffe  had  not  yet  arrived. 

The  Captain,  after  casting  an  exploring  glance 
round  the  room,  to  discover  whether  his  young 


J44  BOLTED. 

friend  had  perchance  emigrated  to.  some  other 
quarter,  seated  himself  in  the  vacant  chair  as 
locum  tenens  ;  and  when  the  waiter  came  with  the 
soda  and  cigars  he  asked  him,  as  he  struck  a  match, 
whether  Mr.  Cunliffe  were  not  late  that  morn 
ing. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  man  ;  "  it's  an  unusual 
thing  for  Mr.  Cunliffe,  too.  He'd  ought  to  have 
been  here  half  an  hour  ago." 

The  Captain  made  up  his  mind  that  he  had  over 
slept  himself,  as  even  the  idlest  of  young  men 
about  town  sometimes  will,  and  resigned  himself 
to  wait  for  him.  He  had  been  turning  over  in  his 
mind  the  consultation  with  the  Inspector  of  the 
day  previous,  and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
it  could  do  no  harm  to  at  least  propose  a  little  trip 
to  Cunliffe,  and  see  how  he  received  the  proposition. 
If  he  rejected  it,  without  giving  any  satisfactory 
reasons,  it  would  be  a  point  against  him,  though 
not,  of  course,  a  conclusive  one.  If  he  accepted  it 
readily  and  without  embarrassment,  the  Captain 
could  use  his  own  judgment  as  to  going  or  raising 
some  obstacle  at  the  last  moment. 

The  smoking-room  was  far  from  being  a  dis 
agreeable  place  to  spend  a  vacant  hour  in.  The 
morning  sunshine  fell  slantwise  through  its  windows, 
and  the  white  illumination  from  the  snow-covered 
avenue  was  reflected  into  the  apartment.  At  each 
end  of  the  room  a  genial  fire  was  glowing  and 
blazing  in  an  ample  fireplace  ;  and  at  the  various 
littic  round  tables  well-dressed  men  were  sitting  in 


BOLTED.  145 

easy  chairs,  chatting  with  one  another  in  that 
subdued  tone  which  distinguishes  the  morning  club 
man  from  the  same  personage  after  dinner.  All 
was  warm,  sumptuous,  and  serene  ;  and  the 
sense  of  comfort  was  enhanced  by  the  spectacle  of 
the  bright  frosty  weather  out-doors,  where  the 
pedestrians  walked  with  quickened  steps  along  the 
ringing  sidewalks,  and  held  their  hands  over  their 
ears,  while  their  breath  blew  from  their  mouths 
like  puffs  of  thin  white  smoke. 

The  Captain  sipped  his  "soda  and  smoked  his 
cigar,  and  gave  perfunctory  attention  to  the  news 
paper  that  lay  across  his  knee.  Whenever  any  new 
comer  entered  the  rooms,  he  looked  up  to  see  if  it 
were  Cunliffe.  His  chair  was  so  placed  in  the 
window  that  he  also  commanded  an  outlook  down 
the  avenue,  and  he  kept  an  eye  open  for  the 
approach  of  his  friend  in  that  direction.  But 
eleven  o'clock  came  and  went,  and  still  no  Cunliffe. 
The  Captain  finished  his  cigar,  and  debated  whether 
to  light  another.  He  decided  the  question  in  the 
negative  ;  he  was  not  an  excessive  smoker,  and 
cigars  were  only  a  part  of  his  professional 
equipment.  At  half-past  eleven  he  rose  from  his 
chair,  shook  out  first  one  leg  and  then  the  other, 
stretched  his  arms,  yawned,  and  walked  over  to  the 
fireplace. 

Hullo,  Hamilton,"  said  some  one,  from  the 
depths  of  an  easy  chair  near  by,  "  is  that  you  ?  I 
took  it  for  granted  you  must  be  Cunliffe,  sitting  in 
that  window." 


J46  BOLTED. 

"By  the  by,  where  is  Cunliffe  ? "  the  Captain 
asked. 

"  No  idea:  ought  to  be  around  here  somewhere." 

"Cunliffe?"  came  from  another  easy  chair 
on  the  other  side  of  the  fireplace.  "  He  won't  be 
here  to-day,  I  guess.  Met  him  on  the  way  up  here. 
Said  he  was  going  out  of  town,  I  think.  Had  a 
valise." 

"  Confound  the  fellow  !"  ejaculated  the  Captain, 
rubbing  his  whiskers,  "  he  had  an  appointment  with 
me  this  morning.  Did  he  say  where  he  was  going  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  think  not.  I  didn't  ask  him. 
He  seemed  rather  in  a  hurry.  Jumped  aboard  a 
horse-car." 

"  Humph  !  He's  a  nice  chap,  to  leave  me  in  the 
lurch  this  way  !"  the  Captain  growled.  "  Well,  I 
can't  wait  any  longer.  If  he  should  happen  to 
come  in,  and  any  of  you  fellows  see  him,  just  tell 
him  I  waited  an  hour,  will  you  ?  "  And  with  the 
air  of  one  who  has  been  rudely  entreated,  the  Cap 
tain  strode  out. 

Inwardly,  however,  his  emotions  were  much  more 
active  and  acute  than  appeared  in  outward  manifes 
tation.  The  state  of  his  mind,  indeed,  could  be 
best  described  as  one  of  consternation.  If  Cunliffe 
had  bolted,  there  must  have  been  some  pressing 
reason  for  his  doing  so.  Club  men  do  not  take 
trips  out  of  New  York  in  the  dead  of  winter  and 
the  height  of  the  season  without  grave  cause. 
And  the  departure  was  as  sudden  as  it  was  unusual. 
Hamilton  had  seen  him  the  evening  before,  and 


BOLTED.  147 

nothing  in  his  manner  or  his  words  had  indicated 
that  he  had  any  such  design  in  view. 

Of  course,  his  flight  was  the  strongest  possible 
indication  of  his  guilt.  There  were  two  ways  of 
regarding  the  event.  Either  he  had  got  all  the 
money  he  wanted,  and  had  made  his  preparations 
deliberately  ;  or  else  he  had  been  alarmed,  and  had 
bolted  at  short  warning  to  escape  arrest.  In  either 
case,  the  question  was,  where  had  he  gone  ?  He 
had  at  least  two  hours  start.  It  was  to  be  feared 
that  the  pursuit  would  be  too  late,  even  if  it  could 
be  begun  immediately. 

But  it  was  first  necessary  to  make  inquiries. 
Upon  leaving  the  club,  Hamiliton  betook  himself 
southward  and  westward  to  Cunliffe's  lodgings. 
Upon  entering  the  street,  he  saw  a  man  lingering 
along  the  sidewalk,  with  his  hands  thrust  up  the 
sleeves  of  his  coat,  and  his  head  low  down  in  his 
collar.  The  man  approached  him,  touching  his  hat, 
and  otherwise  conducting  himself  after  the  manner 
of  the  street-beggars  who  make  club  men  their 
prey.  Hamilton  walked  along  with  an  aspect  of 
studied  unconsciousness  ;  meanwhile  this  conver 
sation  occurred  : — 

Hamilton. — What  are  you  here  for  ? 

Beggar. — Watchin'  out  for  that  feller,  sir. 

Hamilton. — Don't  you  know  he's  skipped  ? 
When  did  you  come  here  ? 

Beggar. — Seven  o'clock,  sir.  He  ain't  been  out 
since  I  been  here. 

Hamilton. — According   to   my  information,  he's 


148  BOLTED. 


gone.     I  will  inquire  at  the  house.     If  he's  not  in, 
11  take  out  my  handkerchief,  and  do"you  go  down 
and  report  at  the  office.     If  he  is,  stay  here. 
•Beggar.— All  right,  sir. 

Then  Hamilton,  with  the  air  of  one  who  submits 
to  extortion  for  the  sake  of  peace  and  quiet  handed 
the  beggar  a  coin  ;  thereupon  the  latter  touched 
his  hat  again,  turned  on  his  heel,  and  walked  off. 

Hamilton  ran  up  the  steps  of  Cunliffe's  lodgings 

and  rang  the  bell.     After  a  long  delay,  and  just  as 

e  was  on  the  point  of  ringing  again,  the  door  was 

opened  by  a  female,  who  presented  a  countenaceof 

preternatural  stupidity. 

"  Mr.  Cunliffe  in?"  demanded  Hamilton,  briskly. 
The  woman  gazed  at  him  with  lack-luster  eyes 
for  several  moments,  and  then  said,  "  Mr.  What?" 
"  Cunliffe— Mr.  Frank  Cunliffe— is  he  in  ?  " 
"  Mr.  Cunliffe,"  repeated   the  girl,  and   stopped 
to  consider.     «  No,"  she  said  at  length,  staring  at 
the  Captain's  necktie  as  if  under  the  impression 
that  she  had  seen  it  somewhere  before.     "  No,  he 
ain't  in— Mr.  Cunliffe." 

"  Not  in  ?     That's  odd  !    Did  he  leave  any  word 
for  Captain  Hamilton  ?" 

"  Captain  Hamilton  ?     Who's  he  ?  " 
"  I  am   Captain    Hamilton.     Did    he  leave   any 
message  or  note  for  me  ?  " 

'  No  ;  he  didn't  leave  nothing  for  nobody." 
"  What  time  did  he  go  away  ?  " 
^  The  girl  shook  her  head  slowly.    "  I  don'  know. 
This  mornin',  I  guess.     I  didn't  see  him." 


BOLTED.  149 

"  Well,  see  here ;  can  I  step  up  to  his  room  for  a 
moment  ?  I'm  a  friend  of  his,  you  know,  and  ex 
pected  to  find  him  here — important  business — and 
just  write  a  note  for  him.  Just  let  me  up  to  his 
room,  will  you  ?" 

"  Can't  do  it,"  said  the  girl,  still  shaking  her 
head.  "  He's  locked  the  door,  and  took  the  key  oft" 
with  him." 

"  Oh,  the  deuce  he  has  !  Where's  the  mistress 
of  the  house !  " 

"  She's  gone  marketin'." 

By  this  time  the  door  was  nearly  closed  ;  and 
with  the  final  words  it  was  clapped  together  with  a 
bang,  and  the  Captain  was  left  out  in  the  cold. 

He  muttered  an  anathema,  faced  about,  and 
descended  the  steps.  The  beggar  was  still  loung 
ing  at  the  corner  of  the  street.  Hamilton  took  out 
his  handkerchief  and  blew  his  nose  ;  and  the  beg 
gar  disappeared  round  the  corner  and  was  seen 
no  more. 

Hamilton  walked  on  to  Sixth  Avenue,  and  stood 
there  taking  counsel  with  himself.  As  the  result 
of  his  deliberations,  he  took  a  car  down  to  Four 
teenth  Street,  then  across  to  Lexington  Avenue, 
and  so  to  a  small  house  where  he  again  rang  at 
the  door. 

An  elderly  lady  in  a  black  dress  and  white  cap 
and  apron  answered  the  ring. 

"  Is  Miss  Kitty  Clive  in  ?  " 

"  I  will  see,  sir.     What  name  ?  " 

"Captain  Hamilton.    I  am  a  friend  of  Mr.  Frank 


J5o  BOLTED. 

Cunliffe,  aad  would  like  to  speak  to  her  a  moment 
on  business  connected  with  him." 

He  handed  out  his  card  as  he  spoke,  which  had 
engraved  upon  it  his  name  and  the  branch  of  Her 
Majesty's  army  to  which  he  belonged.  The  lady 
in  black  retired  with  it,  leaving  the  visitor  in  the 
hall.  A  due  interval  passed,  and  then  Captain 
Hamilton  was  told  that  he  might  step  upstairs. 

He  found  himself  in  a  pleasant  room,  remark 
ably  well  ventilated,  and  containing,  besides  the 
piano,  a  comfortable  sofa  that  made  one  drowsy 
to  look  at  it,  and  chairs  to  match.  He  had  hardly 
had  time  to  notice  these  things,  when  Miss  Kitty 
Clive  entered. 

As  soon  as  Hamilton  looked  at  her,  he  under 
stood  that  he  had  to  deal  with  a  woman  who  was 
without  vanity,  who  was  refined,  who  knew  some 
thing  of  the  world,  and  who  possessed  excellent 
brains.  She  was  not  at  all  the  ideal  type  of 
opera  singer.  He  was  somewhat  annoyed  by  this 
discovery,  for  he  had  prepared  himself  for  a  much 
more  easily  managed  kind  of  person.  She  greeted 
him  with  entire  ease  ;  but  there  was  a  reserve  in 
her  eyes  to  which  her  self-possessed  manner  only 
lent  emphasis.  Hamilton,  adopting  his  line  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment,  decided  to  be  simple  and 
straightforward. 

"You  are  a  relative  of  Mr.  Cunliffe's,  aren't 
you  ? "  he  said. 

"  Rather  remote,  Captain  Hamilton  ;  remote 
enough  for  friendship  !  " 


BOLTED.  151 

"  I  don't  know  if  he  ever  spoke  to  you  of  me  ?  " 
She  moved  her  head  in  negation.  "  We  got 
acquainted  at  the  club,  you  know,  and  have  seen  a 
good  deal  of  each  other.  What  I  wanted  to  say 
was  this  :  A  common  friend  of  ours,  with  whom  I 
dined  last  night,  deputed  me  to  invite  Cunliffe  to 
join  a  sleighing  party  this  morning  to  drive  to  his 
home  up  at  New  Rochelle  and  take  dinner.  I 
saw  Cunliffe  at  the  club  later  on,  and  gave  him  the 
invitation,  and  he  said  he'd  go.  We  were  to  meet 
at  the  club  this  morning  at  ten  o'clock.  I  was 
there,  but  he  didn't  come.  After  a  while  one  of  the 
fellows  said  he'd  met  him  in  the  street,  and  that  he 
had  told  him  he  was  going  out  of  town." 

At  this  point  the  Captain  paused  for  breath,  and 
to  think  of  what  he  should  say  next.  Miss  Clive 
looked  politely  interested  and  said  : 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  " 

"Well,  I  came  here,"  the  Captain  replied,  feeling 
a  trifle  awkward.  "  I  thought  you  might  give  me 
an  idea  where  he  had  gone." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't,"  she  returned,  smiling. 
"  But  I'll  tell  you  where  you  might  perhaps  find 
out." 

"  I  shall  be  much  obliged." 

"  You  might  ask  at  his  lodgings." 

"  Ah — yes — well,  the  fact  is,  I  went  there  first, 
and  they  could  tell  me  nothing.  Then  I  recollected 
his  having  spoken  of  you  as  his  cousin,  or  some 
thing  of  that  kind,  and  as  I  didn't  know  where  else 
to  go—" 


J52  BOLTED. 

"  I  understand.  I'm  sorry  I  can't  help  you.  It 
occurs  to  me,  though—"  She  paused,  and  looked 
at  the  Captain  with  a  very  bright  glance. 

"Yes?"  he  said. 

"  I  was  thinking  that  perhaps  he  had  mistaken 
about  the  sleigh-ride  and  was  going  to  take  the 
train  up  to  New  Rochelle." 

uOh,  it  couldn't  be  that,  you  know,"  said  the 
Captain  hastily. 

"  It  was  only  an  idea  that  struck  me.  You  said 
you  didn't  know  where  he  was  going,  except  that 
he  was  going  out  of  town  ;  and  that  seemed  to  me 
the  most  natural  place,  under  the  circumstances, 
for  him  to  go." 

"  This  woman  is  cleverer  than  she  ought  to  be," 
said  the  Captain  to  himself.  "  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  she  did  know  something  about  it  after  all." 
Aloud  he  said,  "I'm  afraid  I've  troubled  you  to  no 
purpose." 

"  You  have  not  troubled  me  at  all.  It  is  too  bad 
of  my  cousin  to  have  kept  you  waiting.  Has  the 
rest  of  the  party  started  ? " 

"  Well — that  is,  yes — they  must  have  started  some 
time  ago.  Ten  o'clock,  you  know." 

"  Oh  !  then  how  will  you  get  there  ?  Will  you 
go  by  train  ?  " 

"  No  ;  it  was  the  sleigh-ride  we  were  going  for," 
returned  the  Captain,  beginning  to  wish  that  he  had 
invented  some  more  manageable  story  for  the  occa 
sion.  "  The  dinner  without  the  sleigh-ride  wouldn't 
be  worth  the  trouble.  I'll  stay  at  home." 


BOLTED.  153 

"You  are  English,  are  you  not?"  inquired 
Kitty. 

"  Yes,  I'm  a  North-countryman.  Why  do  you 
ask  ? " 

"  I  have  always  wanted  to  go  to  England,  and  I 
like  to  see  any  one  who  comes  from  there.  I  hope 
to  go  some  time." 

"  I  hope  you  will.  It's  a  nice  place.  You'll  go 
to  sing,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  That  is  my  only  chance.  But  there  are  so 
many  better  singers  than  I  ;  I  suppose  I  ought 
not  to  try  it." 

"  I  have  heard  your  singing  very  well  spoken 
of,"  said  the  Captain  gallantly. 

"  But  you  have  never  heard  the  singing  ?  "  she 
said,  laughing. 

"  Well,  I'm  only  passing  through  here,  you 
know,  and  a  fellow  doesn't  get  much  time  to  him 
self—" 

"  Do  you  care  for  singing  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do  !  I  used  to  be  able  to  hum  a  few 
bars  myself." 

"  Would  you  like  to  hear  me  sing  ? " 

"  If  you'd  be  good  enough,  there's  nothing  I'd 
like  better." 

"  If  you  like  it,  you  know,  you  can  speak  of  it  to 
your  friends  when  you  go  back."  She  took  her 
place  at  the  piano,  played  meditatively  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  sang  an  English  ballad.  It  car 
ried  the  Captain  back  to  a  time  now  far  in  the  dis 
tance,  when  he  had  heard  that  ballad  sung  in  his 


154  BOLTED. 

own  country — a  time  when  he  had  his  place  in 
English  society,  and  had  looked  forward  to  noth 
ing  less  than  to  taking  up  with  his  present  calling. 
He  lost  himself  in  these  memories,  and  when  the 
song  ceased,  he  came  to  himself  with  a  start,  and 
with  something  like  a  sigh. 

"  But  you  are  from  the  North,"  she  said,  before 
he  could  speak.  "  Then  I  suppose  you  know  this  :" 
— and  she  began  to  sing  "  Caller  Herrin'." 

When  rendered  by  a  fine  contralto  voice,  such 
as  Kitty  undeniably  possessed,  this  is  one  of  the 
most  wildly  beautiful  and  rudely  melodious  songs 
in  the  language  ;  you  seem  to  see  the  fair-haired, 
blue-eyed,  stately  girl,  the  long  gleaming  sands 
and  cold  gray  sea,  and  the  shining  fish  borne  aloft 
in  the  rustic  wicker  basket.  The  Captain  listened 
in  breathless  delight.  He  could  have  listened  for 
ever.  "Who'll  buy  my  caller  herrin'?"  The 
rich  voice  rose  and  soared,  and  sank  again.  The 
Englishman's  heart,  surprised  to  find  itself  still  in 
existence,  after  so  many  tough  vicissitudes,  acted 
in  an  irregular  and  turbulent  manner.  Where  was 
he  ?  on  the  coast  of  the  North  Sea  ?  No,  in  New 
York,  in  a  lodging  house  on  Lexington  Avenue, 
listening  to  an  American  girl  sing.  But  he  made 
this  discovery  only  after  she  had  stopped  and, 
turning  on  her  piano-stool,  confronted  him  with  her 
contagious  smile. 

"  That's  almost  as  good  as  going  home  again, 
Miss  Clive,"  he  said,  after  clearing  his  throat  once 


BOLTED.  155 

or  twice.     "  By  Jove,  though,  it's  worth  coming  to 
America  to  hear  you  sing  it  !  " 

"  Then  you'll  speak  well  of  me  to  the  people 
over  there  ?  " 

«  Oh  !— "  said  the  Englishman  ;  and  stopped. 
His  cheeks  and  forehead  reddened,  and  he  bent 
his  eyes  on  the  floor.  Had  he  actually  been  on 
the  point  of  explaining  to  her  why  his  recommen 
dation  would  not  have  much  weight  just  now  in 
influential  English  circles  ?  Was  he  about  to  reveal 
to  her  the  history  of  his  career,  which  was  at  least 
as  checkered  as  that  apocryphal  one  which  passed 
current  in  the  club,  though  not,  perhaps,  in  all 
respects  so  reputable  ?  And  all  for  a  song  !  no,  no  ! 

The  Captain  rose  and  walked  over  to  the  win 
dow..  There  was  a  writing-table  there,  and  upon 
it  an  open  portfolio,  with  a  blotting  pad  on  one 
side.  His  glance  fell  upon  it,  and  rested  there 
unconsciously  for  a  few  moments.  His  thoughts 
were  far  away. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  have  been  detaining  you,"  said 
Kitty  Clive. 

"  I  don't  know  when  to  expect  so  much  pleasure 
again,"  returned  the  Englishman,  turning  and 
extending  his  hand.  "  But  I  had  no  business  to 
stay  so  long  ;  I'll  say  good-by  now."  He  shook 
hands  with  her,  and  went  out. 

He  reached  the  street,  and,  still  preoccupied, 
had  got  nearly  to  the  corner,  when  all  at  once  he 
stopped  as  abruptly  as  if  a  chasm  had  opened 
before  him  in  the  pavement.  Something  hitherto 


156  BOLTED. 

latent  in  his  mind  had  come  to  the  sui'/ace  with  a 
shock  that  temporarily  deprived  him  of  the  power  of 
motion.  So  we  see  a  face  in  the  crowd,  and  do  not 
know  that  we  have  seen  it,  until,  an  hour  later  per 
haps,  we  realize  it  with  a  start,  and  all  it  implies. 

It  was  a  full  minute  before  Captain  Hamilton 
recollected  himself  sufficiently  to  notice  that  he 
was  standing  in  a  pool  of  half-frozen  snow.  He 
pulled  himself  together,  and  hurried  on.  If  he 
had  met  Cunliffe  at  that  moment,  it  is  probable 
that  he  would  have  arrested  him  then  and  there, 
and  taken  him  to  the  Central  Office.  But  at  all 
events  he  had  completed  the  chain  of  evidence 
against  him  to  his  own  satisfaction  ;  and  though 
Cunliffe  might  keep  out  of  sight  for  a  time  he  would 
be  discovered  sooner  or  later,  and  then— 

"  I  hope  that  girl  isn't  in  love  with  the  fellow  !  " 
said  the  Captain  to  himself,  "and  yet  she  must  be  ! 
She  has  been  throwing  me  off  the  scent,  and  keep 
ing  me  occupied,  to  give  him  time  to  get  away  ! 
That's  it,  though  I  was  too  much  off  guard  to  see 
through  it  at  the  time.  How  she  can  sing  !  Well, 
I'd  lay  odds  she  doesn't  suspect  what  he's  up  to, 
though  he's  been  at  it  under  her  very  nose  !  He's 
sharp  enough  to  know  that  if  he  let  her  know  his 
game  she'd  drop  him  like  a  shot  !  Well,  just 
wait  till  I  get  hold  of  him,  that's  all  !  It's  a  shame 
that  such  a  girl  as  she  is  should  be  wasting  herself 
on  such  a  blackguard  !  " 

So  thinking,  the  Captain  took  the  Bowery  cars  in 
the  direction  of  Bleecker  Street. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

SUGGESTIONS. 

CAPTAIN  HAMILTON,  for  reasons  satisfac 
tory  to  those  concerned,  very  seldom  made 
his  appearance  at  police  headquarters  ;  and  when 
he  did  so  it  was  not  in  the  character  of  an  attache 
of  that  institution,  but  as  a  gentleman  at  large,  in 
quest  of  advice  or  assistance.  His  true  standing 
was  known  to  no  one  except  Inspector  Byrnes. 

When  he  arrived  there,  accordingly,  about  one 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  he  manifested  a  becoming 
unfamiliarity  with  the  geography  of  the  building, 
and  required  much  guidance  to  find  his  way  to  the 
detective's  sanctum.  Once  there,  however,  and 
the  door  closed  upon  him  and  his  chief,  this 
strangeness  vanished  like  a  cloud  of  steam  in  dry 
weather. 

"  Cunliffe  has  got  off,"  were  his  first  words. 
"  Went  this  morning." 

"  Have  you  made  all  inquiries  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  he  had  two  hours  start."  He  went 
on  to  give  a  brief  recapitulation  of  the  events  of 
the  morning  ;  it  was  particularly  brief  as  regarded 
his  interview  with  Kitty  Clive,  for  there  were  one 
or  two  reasons  why  the  Captain  felt  indisposed  to 


1 5  8  5  UGGES  TIONS. 

dilate  upon  all  that  he  had  seen  or  experienced  at 
the  abode  of  that  young  lady. 

"  There  is  no  proof  that  he  is  out  of  the  city," 
was  the  Inspector's  comment. 

"  It  is  as  good  as  proved  that  he  is  the  man, 
though,"  rejoined  the  other  ;  "  and  it  looks  as  if  he 
had  made  his  pile  and  left." 

"  We  can  settle  that,  at  any  rate.  Publish  an  ad 
vertisement  that  will  call  for  an  immediate  answer. 
If  it  is  answered  promptly,  we  shall  know  that  he 
is  in  the  city  and  has  not  given  up  his  business. 
If  he  doesn't  answer  it,  we  may  conclude  that  he  is 
either  gone  out  of  town  because  he  is  suspicious  ; 
or,  if  he  is  still  here,  does  not  intend  to  prose 
cute  his  scheme  any  further." 

"  He  wrote  the  letters— I'm  convinced  of  that," 
said  Hamilton. 

"  Meanwhile,"  continued  the  Inspector,  "we  can 
make  the  usual  investigation  at  the  various  points 
of  departure  as  to  whether  a  person  answering  his 
description  has  been  seen.  For  my  part,  this  move 
of  his  seems  to  me  to  tell  rather  in  his  favor.  If  he 
thought  he  was  suspected,  he  must  have  perceived 
that  running  away  would  confirm  the  suspicion, 
and  if  he  was -guilty,  but  did  not  know  he  was  sus 
pected,  there  would  be  nothing  to  induce  him  to 
leave  " 

"  A  scared  man  does  not  always  stop  to  reason," 
Hamilton  said  ;  "  and  if  he  does  get  away  to 
Canada  or  to  Europe,  we  couldn't  get  him  back." 

gcouts  were  sent  to  the  various  railway  stations 


SUGGESTIONS.  159 

and  steamboat  wharves,  with  the  result  that  a  man 
resembling  Cunliffe  was  reported  to  have  taken  a 
ticket  to  Boston  via  the  Shore  Line  Railway  that 
morning.  The  description  of  the  traveler  was 
neither  complete  nor  satisfactory  ;  but,  assuming 
the  identification  to  be  correct,  it  indicated  that  he 
had  probably  gone  to  Canada.  Meanwhile,  an  ad 
vertisement  was  put  into  the  paper,  and  appeared 
the  next  morning. 

That  evening  a  telegram  was  received  from  Mr. 
Owens,  announcing  news.  The  Inspector  and 
Hamilton,  on  arriving  at  his  house,  were  shown  a 
letter  from  the  mysterious  blackmailer  that  had 
just  been  received.  It  was  an  answer  to  the  adver 
tisement,  and  proved  conclusively  that  if  Cunliffe 
were  the  writer  he  must  still  be  in  New  York. 

After  replying  to  the  points  presented  in  the 
advertisement,  the  letter  had  these  words  : 

"  It  will  be  useless  for  you  to  attempt  to  discov 
er  who  I  am.  My  secret  never  can  be  revealed 
except  by  myself.  I  have  means  of  knowing  all 
that  is  being  done  to  penetrate  my  concealment, 
and  I  adapt  my  measures  accordingly.  But  unless 
you  cease  your  efforts,  I  shall  consider  it  an  indi 
cation  that  the  Lord  has  resolved  to  delay  your 
punishment  no  longer.  Be  warned,  and  forbear  !" 

When  Hamilton  was  first  confronted  by  this  re 
versal  of  his  confident  predictions,  he  was  much 
crestfallen.  But  presently  his  demeanor  changed, 
and  he  became  very  preoccupied  and  silent.  He 
took  no  part  in  the  discussion  that  ensued  between 


1 6  o  S  UGGE  S  TIONS. 

Mr.  Owens  and  Inspector  Byrnes,  and  when  re 
ferred  to  for  his  opinion  contented-  himself  with 
acceding  to  the  suggestions  which  they  had  made. 
These  suggestions  did  not  embody  any  thing  essen 
tially  novel  in  the  mode  of  conducting  the  cam 
paign,  and  there  was  a  tacit  feeling  that  the  advan 
tage  so  far  remained  with  the  unknown.  But 
before  the  three  separated  Mr.  Owens  gave  utter 
ance  to  an  idea  that  had  not  hitherto  been 
broached. 

"  I  am  beginning  to  think,"  he  said,  "  that  this 
affair  is  not  the  work  of  a  single  man,  but  is  a  con 
spiracy  concocted  by  a  syndicate  of  men  whose 
object  is  nothing  less  than  Golding's  ruin.  Some 
of  these  men  probably  hold  influential  positions  in 
the  city,  and,  between  them,  are  able  to  obtain 
information,  more  or  less  direct,  of  our  every  move 
ment.  If  I  am. right,  we  have  probably  seen  only 
the  beginning  of  the  difficulty.  They  are  feeling 
their  way  ;  but  when  they  have  become  more  famil 
iar  with  the  ground  we  may  expect  some  gigantic 
operation,  which  will  result  in  widespread  ruin  and 
panic.  Golding  is  a  powerful  man,  and  in  his 
downfall,  if  he  fell,  would  be  involved  incalculable 
loss  to  public  and  private  interests  ;  but  a  secret 
combination,  defiant  of  moral  principle,  and  willing 
to  shrink  at  nothing,  possesses  boundless  capacities 
for  evil,  and  is  much  better  able  than  any  single 
rogue  would  be  to  defend  itself  against  attack." 

"  I  don't  believe  such  a  conspiracy  could  exist," 
returned  the  Inspector,  promptly.  "An  associV 


SUGGESTIONS.  161 

tion  of  men  absolutely  devoid  of  principle,  and 
acting  in  direct  defiance  of  the  laws  of  the  State, 
could  not  hold  itself  together.  There  could  be  no 
effective  security  against  one  or  the  other  of  them 
betraying  the  rest.  The  risks  would  be  too  great 
and  the  penalties  would  be  too  severe." 

Owens  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "  The  temp- 
'tations  are  also  very  strong,"  he  observed.  "  As 
for  the  association  together  of  unprincipled  men, 
that  has  occurred  before,  and  will  again,  and  the 
secret  has  been  kept,  too — long  enough,  at  least, 
to  allow  of  a  great  deal  of  mischief  being  done.  It 
is  when  the  conspirators  begin  to  quarrel  over  the 
plunder  that  the  risk  of  detection  becomes  immi 
nent  ;  but  by  that  time  the  harm  would  be  done, 
so  far  as  we  are  concerned.  Then  you  must  con 
sider  how  large  the  plunder  in  this  case  might  be. 
Golding's  actual  property,  vast  as  it  is,  is  as  noth 
ing  compared  with  the  great  interests  and  indus 
tries  which  he  controls  or  manages.  A  band  of 
able  and  well-informed  men,  knowing  the  ropes  and 
having  an  inside  track  in  affairs,  could  so  manipu 
late  things  as  to  cause  the  profits  of  these  indus 
tries  to  fall  into  their  hands,  and  yet  render  it  prac 
tically  impossible  to  convict  them  of  fraud.  Besides, 
there  undoubtedly  exists  a  wide-spread  business 
jealousy  of  Golding  and  animosity  against  him, 
and  thousands  of  persons  who  had  no  knowledge 
of  or  part  in  the  conspiracy  would  not  be  sorry  to 
behold  his  downfall.  Yes,  Inspector,  such  a  thing 
is  possible  ;  and,  assuming  it  to  be  a  fact,  we  neetl 


162  SUGGESTIONS. 

not  wonder  that  our  efforts  to  identify  the  secre 
tary  of  the  association  have  been  unsuccess 
ful." 

"  How  much  has  been  netted  so  far  by  this  black 
mailer  or  syndicate  of  blackmailers  ?  "  inquired 
Captain  Hamilton. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  say  at  present.  The  sum  may 
have  been  large  or  small,  but  more  likely  the  latter 
than  the  former.  As  I  said,  they  would  only  feel 
their  way  at  first.  Meanwhile,  they  could  not  dis 
guise  their  true  purposes  better  than  by  this  pre 
tense  of  ordinary  blackmail." 

"Mr.  Owens,"  said  the  Inspector,  after  a  pause, 
"  you  accused  me  the  other  day  of  being  cynical. 
Perhaps  I  am  ;  but  I  don't  think  I  was  ever  cyni 
cal  on  so  large  a  scale  as  this.  And  yet  you  don't 
like  to  think  ill  of  any  one  !  " 

"  Not  of  any  one  I  know  personally,"  replied 
Owens  with  a  smile.  "  What  I  have  just  suggested 
is  the  result  of  my  abstract  meditations.  I  can 
cipher  on  a  problem  without  reference  to  my 
private  benevolence  of  character." 

"  It  is  a  suggestion,  sure  enough,"  the  Inspector 
returned,  stroking  his  chin  ;  "  but  I  must  say  you 
haven't  convinced  me.  I  still  believe  that  if  we 
can  get  our  hands  on  the  man  who  wrote  those 
letters  the  whole  business  will  come  to  a  stop. 
And,  even  if  you  are  right,  that  would  still  be  the 
first  step  towards  capturing  the  gang.  If  one  of 
them  is  caught  tripping,  it  will  be  my  fault  if  we 
don't  soon  learn  who  the  others  are," 


SUGGES  TIONS.  1 6  3 

"  How  does  my  suggestion  strike  you,  Mr. 
Hamilton  ?  "  Owens  asked. 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  form  a  conclusion  upon  it  at 
once,"  that  gentleman  replied,  "but,  speaking  off 
hand,  it  doesn't  seem  to  me  improbable.  A  couple 
of  brokers,  two  or  three  capitalists,  and  an  out 
sider  or  two,  might  make  a  very  formidable  com 
bination,  and  a  very  difficult  one  to  tackle.  They 
could  throw  out  many  false  scents,  and  complicate 
the  matter  in  such  a  way  as  to  bewilder  any  body. 
They  might  even  get  the  actual  criminal  work  done 
— the  letters  written — by  some  one  who  was  igno 
rant  of  their  identity,  and  comprehended  little  or 
nothing  of  their  designs.  Thus,  if  that  person 
were  arrested,  they  would  still  be  comparatively 
safe,  and  at  all  events  would  have  time  to  take 
further  measures  to  protect  themselves." 

"  Whatever  our  opinions  may  be,  they  can  be 
neither  more  nor  less  than  guessing,"  the  Inspector 
said,  "  and  I  don't  see  that  they  would  practically 
help  us  much.  If  half  the  capitalists  and  brokers 
in  Wall  Street  were  in  this  supposed  conspiracy 
against  Mr.  Golding,  the  fact  would  involve  no 
essential  change  in  our  plan  of  operations.  We 
shall  gain  nothing  by  allowing  our  attention  to  be 
distracted  from  the  writer  of  the  letters  ;  until  we 
have  him,  we  can  do  nothing  else.  It  makes  no 
difference  whether  he  is  alone,  or  is  acting  for  a  syn 
dicate,  or  is  aware  or  not  of  the  full  bearing  of  his 
act ;  let  us  hunt  him  down  to  begin  with,  and  then 


1 64  SUGGESTIONS. 

we  shall  be  in  a  much  better  position  to  handle  the 
rest  of  them — if  any  there  are." 

"  Well,  I  agree  with  you  there,  Inspector,"  Owens 
replied.  "  But  we  have  already  tried  about  every 
device  that  can  be  thought  of,  and  nothing  has  come 
of  it." 

"  We  have  inserted  advertisements,  and  given 
points,  with  a  view  to  catching  him  in  some  of  his 
operations  ;  but  the  variations  in  the  stocks  have 
not  been  large,  and,  as  you  say,  his  gains  have 
probably  been  small  ;  and  there  were  so  many 
brokers  on  each  side  of  the  market  that  it  has  been 
impossible  to  say  which  one  of  them  all  was  acting 
for  our  man.  Suppose,  now,  that  we  go  into  the 
thing  on  a  bigger  scale  ?  " 
"  In  what  way  ?" 

"  Something  like  this.  Have  you  a  copy  of  the 
cipher  key  ?  " 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  Owens  ;  and  he  took  from  his 
pocket-book  a  slip  of  paper  on  \\hich  was  written 
the  following : — 

"  Bull, Up-town." 

"  Bear, Down-town." 

"Western  Union,     ....   Windsor." 

"  Erie, Spoon." 

"  Manhattan, Salvation." 

"  Pacific  Mail, Concord." 

"  New  York  Central,     .       .     .    Berlin." 

"Lake  Shore, Exchange." 

And  so    on    with    a    number   of  other  stocks,   the 
proper  designation  of  the  stock  being  in  each  case 


SUGGESTIONS.  165 

translated  by  some  arbitrary  word  to  be  used  as  its 
representative. 

"  Now,  what  I  propose  is  this,"  the  Inspector 
continued,  after  glancing  over  the  key.  "  Select 
some  one  of  these  stocks  which  is  either  well  above 
par  or  well  below  it,  and  which  there  is  every 
probability  will  remain  where  it  is.  If  it  is  a  low 
stock,  advertise  to  the  fellow  to  buy  for  all  he  is 
worth  ;  and  if  it  is  high,  tell  him  to  sell,  and  that 
you  will  bull  or  bear  it,  as  the  case  may  be,  enough 
to  make  his  fortune  once  for  all." 

"  But  that  is  the  same  principle  we  have  been 
acting  on  already." 

"  The  principle  is  the  same,  but  the  scale  on 
which  it  is  applied  makes  it  different  in  effect.  Sup 
pose  you  take  a  stock  at  50 — one  which  nobody 
ever  expects  to  go  any  higher.  Forewarn  your 
man  that  you  are  going  to  bull  it.  He  will  imme 
diately  order  his  brokers  to  buy  all  they  can  lay 
their  hands  on.  Put  a  trained  man  on  the  floor  to 
watch  the  bidding.  It  is  ten  to  one  that  not  more 
than  two  firms  will  be  buying  at  that  time  ;  and  of 
those  two  the  one  who  is  taking  in  most,  and  doing 
it  the  most  quietly,  is  the  firm  that  our  man  is  deal 
ing  with.  When  he  has  got  as  much  as  he  can  hold, 
jump  in  and  send  the  thing  ahead  with  all  the 
means  at  your  command,  and  high  enough  to  make 
a  sensation.  Meanwhile,  advertise  him  to  sell  out 
when  it  reaches  a  certain  figure,  as  you  will  not  be 
able  to  push  it  beyond  that.  Have  your  expert  on 
hand  when  that  figure  is  gained  ;  and  the  broker 


166  SUGGESTIONS. 

who  sells  largely  then  will,  I  venture  to  predict,  be 
the  same  broker  you  spotted  before  ;  but  at  any 
rate  it  is  dollars  to  cents  that  he  will  be  our  man's 
broker.  The  transaction  must  be  so  managed  that 
this  sale  will  take  place  at  a  juncture  when  no  one 
else  will  think  of  selling,  but  everybody  will  be  ex 
pecting  the  stock  to  go  higher  yet  ;  so  that,  no 
matter  who  may  follow  his  example  in  unloading, 
he  will  be  certain  to  lead  the  way." 

"  That  certainly  seems  to  be  an  improvement  on 
any  thing  we  have  tried  heretofore,"  Mr.  Owens 
assented  ;  "  but  the  stock  market  is  such  an  un 
certain  thing,  and  anything  extraordinary  is  so  apt 
to  produce  a  panic,  that  the  result  may  not  be  so 
clearly  defined  as  would  seem  likely  beforehand. 
It  is  worth  considering,  too,  that,  in  case  my  hy 
pothesis  as  to  a  conspiracy  turns  out  to  have  some 
foundation,  we  should  have  half-a-dozen  or  more 
brokers  following  our  '  tip  '  instead  of  only  one. 
However,  I  think  I  know  of  a  stock  that  will 
answer  the  purpose  very  well  just  at  this  time,  and 
I  will  speak  to  Golding  about  it  and  get  his 
opinion." 

This  ended  the  interview  ;  but  after  the  In 
spector  and  Hamilton  had  taken  their  departure 
the  latter  inquired  whether,  pending  the  considera 
tion  of  the  new  scheme,  he  might  be  allowed  to 
make  another  effort  to  pick  up  some  information 
about  Cunliffe. 

"  How  now  ?  Have  you  got  a  new  clew  ?  " 
smiled  the  Inspector. 


SUGGESTIONS.  167 

"  An  expedient  has  occurred  to  me  tnat  I  have 
not  yet  tried  ;  and  as  I  let  the  man  slip  through 
my  fingers  I  don't  want  to  leave  any  stone  un 
turned  to  come  up  with  him  again." 

"  Do  as  you  like,"  was  the  rejoinder  ;  "  only  keep 
me  informed  of  your  whereabouts,  in  case  of  any 
sudden  need." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

ON    THE  ICE. 

JOHN  TALBOT,  either  because  of  his  long  legs, 
or  in  spite  of  them,  was  an  excellent  skater  ; 
and  at  the  mature  age  of  thirty  or  more  he  still 
retained  a  great  deal  of  his  early  liking  for  the 
pastime.  As  a  boy  he  had  had  enviable  oppor 
tunities,  living  as  he  then  did  at  the  head  of  a  long 
and  broad  valley,  watered  by  a  river  with  scarcely 
any  current.  In  winter  this  river  was  in  the  habit 
of  overflowing  its  banks  (being  assisted  therein 
where  necessary  by  dams  judiciously  applied)  ;  and 
when  zero  came  hurrying  down  the  valley  on  the 
wings  of  the  north  wind,  and  worked  its  will  upon 
the  sluggish  stream  for  a  night  and  a  day,  the 
fortunate  youth  of  the  neighborhood  found  them 
selves  possessed  in  fee-simple  of  a  domain  of  black 
ice,  thirty  miles  in  length  by  a  mile  in  average 
breadth.  Skates  had  no  chance  to  get  rusty  in 
those  days  ;  and  of  all  who  used  them  John  Talbot 
could  go  the  fastest  and  cut  the  most  surprising 
and  sweeping  circumbendibuses. 

In    comparison    with   so  grand   an     arena,    the 
narrow  boundaries  of  the  pond  in    Central    Park 


ON    THE  ICE.  169 

were  nothing  less  than  comic  ;  but  one  gets  ac 
customed  to  any  thing,  even  to  living  for  twenty 
years  in  a  six  by  four  stone  dungeon,  beneath  low- 
water  mark.  Accordingly  John  had  for  several 
years  past  been  in  the  custom  of  coming  to  the 
pond,  once  in  a  while,  on  winter  evenings  after 
business  hours,  and  there,  shod  with  gleaming  steel, 
giving  the  city  bumpkins  an  idea  of  how  they  cut 
up  didos  down  east. 

But  during  the  winter  of  our  story,  his  engage 
ment  to  Miss  Betty  Claverhouse  occurred,  and  gave 
him  something  even  better  than  skating  to  think 
about.  But  the  soul  of  man  is  an  abyss  which  can 
never  be  filled  ;  and  John  Talbot,  having  made  sure 
of  Miss  Betty  Claverhouse,  presently  bethought 
himself  whether  he  might  not  take  in  the  Central 
Park  pond  likewise.  Upon  opening  the  subject 
to  Betty,  it  appeared  that  skating  was  not 
among  that  admirable  girl's  accomplishments. 
But  among  her  many  virtues  was  a  willingness  to 
follow  John's  advice  and  adopt  his  suggestions  in 
all  things  ;  and  when  he  represented  to  her  the  joys 
of  the  frosty  science,  and  pictured  the  attractive 
appearance  of  the  young  ladies  who  practiced  it, 
and  furthermore  dwelt  upon  the  ridiculous  ease 
and  rapidity  wherewith  proficiency  in  it 'might  be 
acquired—"  Why,"  quoth  John,  «  in  comparison 
with  type-writing,  for  instance,  it  is  easier  than  fall 
ing  off  a  hickory  log  !  "—when,  I  say,  he  had  dis 
coursed  to  her  in  this  vein  for  a  half  hour  or  so,  Betty 
was  not  only  anxious  to  make  her  debut  upon  the 


17°  ON    THE  ICE. 

pond  forthwith,  but  was  well-nigh  persuaded  that 
she  would  be  able  to  do  the  outward  roll  back 
wards,  and  to  cut  her  initials,  at  the  first  attempt. 

Thereupon, "not  to  let  the  iron  grow  cool,  John 
took  the  measure  of  her  foot  ;  and  on  his  way 
home  the  next  afternoon  he  bought  her  as  good  a 
pair  of  skates  as  were  to  be  had  in  New  York  City. 
Then,  having  eaten  a  hearty  dinner  together,  and 
Betty  having  been  fortified  against  the  cold  with 
plentiful  wrappings,  breast-plates,  greaves,  and 
gauntlets,  the  two  young  people  embarked  on  a 
horse-car,  and  traveled  up-town  on  their  way  to 
Central  Park. 

"  Skating,"  said  John,  as  they  left  the  car  at 
Fifty-ninth  Street  and  proceeded  on  their  way 
afoot,  "  is  like  falling  in  love.  You  are  surprised, 
when  you  try  it,  to  find  how  easy  and  agreeable  it 
is." 

"  Falling  in  skating  may  be  as  easy,"  Betty 
replied  (for  she  now  began  to  feel  vague  apprehen 
sions  stiring  within  her  feminine  mind),  "  but 
I'm  sure  it  can't  be  as  agreeable.  Dear  me  !  look 
there  !  That  poor  girl  was  only  just  standing  still, 
and  all  of  a  sudden  she  fell  over  backwards  with  an 
awful  bump  !  " 

"  She  should  not  have  stood  still,"  said  John 
calmly.  "  That  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  feats  to 
accomplish  on  the  ice,  and  only  the  most  skillful 
professors  should  venture  to  attempt  it.  That  girl 
will  know  better  another  time.  Thanks  to  her 
example,  Betty,  you  know  better  already." 


ON  THE  ICE.  171 

Partly  reassured,  Betty  seated  herself  on  a  bench 
and  allowed  her  betrothed  to  fasten  on  her  skates. 
Then,  sitting  down  beside  her,  he  put  on  his  own, 
"  Now  catch  hold  of  my  arm  and  stand  up,"  said  he. 

"  Goodness  !  how  tall  they  make  one,"  murmured 
Betty,  as  she  arose.  "  But  what  makes  my  ankles 
feel  so  loose  ?  Oh,  John,  I'm  sure  something's 
wrong  !" 

"  You'll  catch  the  idea  directly."  John  replied. 
"  Here  we  go  !  "  And  putting  his  arm  under  her 
shoulders,  he  went  forward  a  few  paces,  carrying 
rather  than  leading  her  with  him.  This  brought 
them  to  the  ice,  and  Talbot,  giving  a  slight  push 
with  one  foot,  glided  out  upon  the  surface,  Betty 
perforce  accompanying. 

So  far  all  was  well  enough;  but  as  Talbot  swung 
round  at  the  end  of  his  slide,  his  companion,  who  was 
unprepared  for  such  a  maneuver,  went  all  to  pieces. 
The  foot  furthest  from  him  followed  his  course ; 
the  other  foot  continued  on  its  direct  course  ; 
the  consequence  was  that  they  crossed,  tripping  each 
other  up,  and  somehow  shooting  upwards,  Betty 
clutched  her  lover  with  a  despairing  grasp,  one  hand 
fastening  upon  his  sleeve,  the  other  upon  the  scarf 
which  encircled  his  neck,  causing  the  knot  to  tighten 
with  such  a  jerk  that  John's  eyes  almost  started 
out  of  his  head.  Involuntarily,  and  without  a  due 
regard  to  ultimate  consequences,  he  strove  to  avert 
strangulation  with  his  free  hand.  But  fate,  in  the 
guise  of  Betty,  was  not  to  be  denied.  She  achieved 
a  wild  evolution,  in  which  all  the  members  of  her 


I? 2  OAr    THE  ICE. 

frame  took  part,  though  in  disjointed  and  incon 
gruous  ways.  This  evolution  was  ^performed  in  a 
moment  of  time,  and  the  most  unimpassioned  spec 
tator  would  have  found  it  impossible  to  analyze  its 
component  parts  and  place  them  in  their  due 
chronological  order.  As  for  John,  who  could 
scarcely  be  regarded  as  a  spectator,  and  who,  at 
that  particular  juncture,  was  certainly  not  unim 
passioned,  he  was  only  conscious  of  an  earthquake, 
accompanied  by  a  cyclone,  in  the  midst  of  which 
the  whole  surface  of  the  frozen  pond  suddenly 
seemed  to  stand  upright,  dart  behind  him,  and  hit 
him  a  tremendous  blow  on  the  back  of  the  head, 
while  Betty  rose  in  the  air  and,  coming  heavily  in 
contact  with  him,  knocked  all  the  breath  out  of  his 
body.  That  was  the  way  it  appeared  to  him  ;  but 
he  was  unquestionably  the  victim  of  a  misappre 
hension.  The  simple  explanation  of  the  phenom 
ena  was  that  Betty  had  tripped  him  up  and  fallen 
on  him.  So  far  as  his  physical  sensations  were 
concerned,  however,  it  might  have  happened  either 
way  indifferently.  The  reality  was  just  as  painful 
as  the  miracle  would  have  been. 

"  Considering  how  short  a  time  we  have  prac 
ticed  together,  Betty,  we  did  that  very  well,"  fal 
tered  John,  as  he  began  to  realize  that  the  after- 
part  of  his  skull  had  not  expanded  to  the  dimen 
sions  of  the  prize  pumpkin  with  which  his  father 
had  taken  the  medal  at  the  cattle-show  eighteen 
years  previous.  "  Are  you  hurt  ?  " 

"  No — John — I  think  not,"  she  gasped  in  reply. 


(iV    7 'HE  ICE.  173 

"  But  oh  !  this  is  dreadful !  Something  seemed  to 
catch  my  heels  and  pull  them  up  into  the  air.  I'm 
sure  you  are  mistaken  in  thinking  me  a  good 
skater." 

"  No,"  returned  John,  still  faintly,  as  he  ex 
tracted  Miss  Claverhouse  from  amongst  his  ribs 
and  assumed  a  sitting  posture  ;  "no,  Betty,  I  am 
never  mistaken.  The  trouble  was  that  I  got  in 
your  way.  You  would  have  done  it  much  better 
alone." 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  do  it  all  !  "  the  lady  ex 
claimed,  in  a  tone  that  carried  assurance  of  her 
sincerity.  "  Besides,  I  heard  something  crack 
as  we  went  down,  and  I'm  sure  we  shall  tumble 
in." 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Betty  ;  it  was  only  my  head 
that  cracked,  not  the  ice  ;  and  my  head  is  too  full 
of  brains  to  admit  of  your  getting  into  it.  It  is  my 
heart  that  is  your  home,  you  know.  But  really, 
now,  don't  you  want  to  take  just  one  more  turn  ? 
See  how  pleased  the  people  are  with  us  already  !  " 

"  Truly,  John,  I  would  much  rather  not.  But  if 
you  want  to  I'll  sit  down  and  wait  till  you  have 
finished." 

"Well,  no;  I  don't  believe  I  care  so  much 
about  skating  as  I  thought  I  did,"  replied  John, 
with  the  air  of  a  cloyed  voluptuary.  "  I  don't  re 
member  remarking  it  before,  but  it  is  a  great  draw 
back  having  the  ice  hard,  instead  of  soft,  like  a 
feather  mattress.  Let's  see  ;  do  you  think  you 
could  skate  to  the  bank  ?  " 


174  ON   THE   ICE. 

11  If  you  pulled  me  I  think  I  could  get  there 
sitting." 

"  Perhaps  that  would  be  best.  It  is  a  new  figure 
in  skating,  though  not  so  exciting  as  our  first  one. 
Here  goes,  then  ;  but  try  to  look  as  if  you  were 
accustomed  to  it." 

With  this  admonition  John  climbed  wearily  to 
his  feet,  and  laying  hold  of  Betty  by  the  tail  of  her 
jacket,  he  drew  her  gently  to  the  shore.  No  cas 
ualty  attended  this  performance  ;  and  Betty 
schooled  her  features  into  an  expression  of  strained 
placidity  which  added  greatly  to  the  picturesque 
effect. 

The  skates  were  removed.  John  gave  Betty  his 
arm,  and  they  started  homewards.  "  After  all,"  he 
said,  "  perhaps  you  had  better  not  give  up  type 
writing  for  the  career  of  a  professional  skater.  The 
competition  is  almost  as  great ;  and,  taking  one 
thing  with  another,  I'm  not  sure  that  you  don't  ap 
pear  to  as  good  advantage  at  the  type-writer  as  on 
the  ice." 

"  I  shouldn't  mind  about  that,  John,  dear,  if  you 
were  pleased  with  me  ;  but  I  agree  with  you  that 
type-writing  suits  me  best.  Besides,  I  can  do  that 
without  your  help.  By  the  way,  what  made  you 
send  that  man  to  me  ?  " 

"  Send  you  a  man,  Miss  Claverhouse  !  What 
man  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Hamill,  you  know.  I  couldn't  do  it  at 
home,  because  I  have  no  machine  there  ;  and  I'm 
kept  busy  all  the  time  at  the  office." 


ON    THE  ICE.  175 

\p> 
"  Pray,  my  dear,  what  doesjMr.  Hamill  want  you 

to  do  for  him  ?  And  in  the  firpt  place,  who  the  devil 
is  Mr.  Hamill  ?  " 

"  Oh,  John  ! — why,  I  only  know  him  from  you. 
If  you  didn't  want  me  to  know  him,  why  did  you 
send  him  to  me  ?  " 

John  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  asked, 
u  What  sort  of  a  looking  man  was  Mr.  Hamill  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  think  he  looks  nice  enough,  don't  you  ? 
He  talks  like  an  Englishman,  and  has  side  whiskers 
too.  But  of  course  there  are  plenty  of  people  who 
can  do  his  copying  easier  than  I  could." 

"  He  wanted  some  copying  done,  did  he  ?  " 

"  Why,  John,  how  funny  you  are  !  He  said  you 
told  him  I  could.  You  must  have  been  thinking  of 
something  else  when  you  were  talking  to  him." 

"  I  guess  I  must  have  been.  Did  he  ask  you 
any  thing  about  me  ?  or  about  Mr.  Cowran  ?  or  about 
yourself  ?  " 

"  No  :  I  think  Mr.  Cunliffe  was  the  only  one  he 
spoke  of." 

"  Yes  ;  and  what  did  he  say  about  Cunliffe  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see  !  He  asked  whether  you  had 
heard  from  him  since  he  went  away." 

"  What  did  you  tell  him  ?  " 

"  I  said  that  I  only  knew  of  one  letter,  written 
when  he  got  to  Boston  and  had  just  seen  that 
man.  You  know." 

"  I  know.     Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  talked  about  that  a  few  minutes  ;  and 
then  he  asked  whether  he  was  going  to  stay  in  Bos- 


1/6  OAT    THE   ICE. 

ton,  and — oh,  I  don't  know  !  There  was  nothing 
of  any  consequence.  But  what  matfe  you  think  I 
could  do  any  work  for  him  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  peculiarity  of  mine  that  I  sometimes  say 
one  thing  when  I  think  I  am  saying  just  the  oppo 
site.  It  is  called  heterophemy,  and  is  characteristic 
of  many  great  men.  Is  Mr.  Hamill  going  to  call 
again  ? " 

"  No,  I  suppose  not.  He  said  he  was  sorry  that 
he  couldn't  engage  me  ;  and  by  the  way,  I  forgot  ?  " 

"  What  did  you  forget  ?  " 

"  Why,  he  asked  me  not  to  say  any  thing  to  you 
about  it,  because  it  might  hurt  your  feelings.  But 
I  didn't  see  why  it  should  hurt  your  feelings,  so  I 
didn't  remember  not  to." 

"  I'll  forgive  you  !  "  said  John.  But  he  was  very 
taciturn  the  rest  of  the  way  home. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

CUNLIFFE'S   BENEFACTOR. 

INASMUCH  as  Miss  Claverhouse  has  spoken  of 
a  letter  written  by  Frank  Cunliffe  to  his  friend 
John  Talbot,  it  would  seem  scarcely  courteous  to 
withhold  the  letter  from  the  reader,  especially  as  it 
may  serve  to  enlighten  a  situation  which  has 
already  become  somewhat  obscure. 

The  letter  was  a  long  one,  and  was  dated  at 
Boston,  a  couple  of  days  after  Cunliffe's  mysterious 
disappearance.  After  touching  upon  a  few  unim 
portant  matters,  it  continued  as  follows  : — 

"  But  I  have  not  yet  told  you  the  occasion  of  my 
abrupt  departure.  Three  nights  ago,  when  I  got 
home  rather  late  from  the  club,  I  found  a  letter  on 
my  table  with  the  Boston  post-mark.  The  hand 
writing  was  unfamiliar  to  me  ;  and  I  should  have 
suspected  it  of  being  a  dunning  application,  only 
that,  so  far  as  I  could  remember,  I  had  never 
bought  anything  in  Boston  that  I  had  not  paid  for, 
if,  indeed,  I  ever  bought  any  thing  there  besides  a 
cigar,  a  pair  of  gloves,  or  a  ticket  to  the  theater. 
I  was  tired,  however,  and  thought  I  wouldn't  open 
the  letter  until  the  next  morning.  But  when  I  got 
undressed,  and  was  sitting  before  the  fire  in  my 


J7  CUNLIFFE'S  BENEFACTOR. 

dressing  gown,  I  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  then  I 
thought  I  might  as  well  have  a  look  at  that  letter. 
So  I  opened  it  ;  and  looked  first  at  the  signature. 

"  Did  I  ever  happen  to  speak  to  you  of  Fowler 
Morgan  ?  probably  not,  for  I  had  almost  forgotten 
him  myself.  I  knew  him  when  I  was  in  college, 
which  is  now  a  good  many  years  since.  He  was 
considerably  older  than  I,  and  was  in  the  law- 
school  when  I  entered  the  Freshman  class.  He 
took  a  fancy  to  me  for  some  reason — I  forget  what 
—and  we  were  a  great  deal  together.  I  both  liked 
him  and  disliked  him.  I  knew  him  to  be  an  un 
principled  man  ;  but  there  was  a  fascination  about 
him  :  there  was  something  undeveloped  in  me  that 
sympathized  with  something  developed  in  him. 
He  would  come  into  my  room  and  talk  to  me  by 
the  hour,  telling  me  all  sorts  of  things  about  him 
self  and  his  experiences,  and  what  he  meant  to  do 
in  the  world  :  I  listened  to  it  all,  though  there  was 
a  great  deal  that  I  had  better  not  have  listened  to. 
I  felt  that  he  was  inoculating  me  with  low  views  of 
life — views  which  I  disapproved  of  ;  and  yet  I 
liked  him  to  come,  and  preferred  his  company  to 
any  one  else's. 

"  His  mother  had  saved  up  money  enough  to 
send  him  to  the  law-school  ;  but  he  admitted  to 
me  that  he  was  studying  the  law  only  in  order  to 
be  able  with  more  safety  to  evade  or  defy  it.  He 
used  to  say  that  society  was  a  humbug,  and  that 
every  body  would  be  a  thief  if  he  knew  how  to  be 
without  getting  punished.  '  I'm  just  like  all  the 


CUNLIFFES  BENEFACTOR.  179 

rest  of  them,'  he  said,  '  except  that  I'm  not  afraid. 
I  don't  want  any  sentiment  or  religion  or  nice 
sense  of  honor  in  mine.  I'm  going  to  get  money 
and  have  a  good  time  ;  and  I'm  not  going  to  starve 
myself  to  death  either  ! ' 

"  *  You're  a  nice  boy,'  he  often  used  to  say  to 
me,  '  but  you  haven't  got  the  stuff  in  you  :  you're 
handicapped  with  ail  that  nonsense  about  respect 
ability  and  honesty  and  so  on.  You'll  never  make 
a  living  for  yourself  ;  if  somebody  doesn't  give  you 
money  you'll  never  have  any.  They  say  God  helps 
those  who  help  themselves.  I  say,  the  devil  helps 
those  who  won't  help  themselves.  I'll  tell  you 
what  I'll  do  with  you,  Frank.  When  I  die — and 
I  don't  expect  to  live  to  a  hundred — I'll  leave  you 
my  money.  I  will  as  sure  as  I'm  sitting  here. 
You'll  have  forgotten  all  about  it  by  that  time  ;  but 
it  may  come  in  handy  just  the  same.' 

"  Of  course,  I  thought  nothing  of  that,  and  for 
got  about  it,  as  he  had  said  I  would,  very  soon  after 
he  left  the  college.  I  have  never  known,  from 
that  day  to  this,  what  he  did  with  himself. 
At  intervals — rather  long  ones — I  used  to  run 
across  him  ;  he  always  greeted  me  on  the  same  foot 
ing  as  of  old  ;  but  his  proceedings  were  evidently 
not  of  the  kind  that  seek  the  light,  and  he  has 
occasioimlly  warned  me  not  to  call  him  by  his  real 
name.  I  fancy  he  was  in  jail  at  one 'time,  though 
I  don't  know  what  for.  As  you  may  imagine,  I  was 
not  exactly  proud  of  my  acquaintance  with  him, 
though  still  I  always  felt  that  old  unregenerate  lik- 


I  So  CUNLIFFES  BEXEFACTO1\ 

ing  for  him.  Later,  I  believe  he  got  into  poli 
tics,  under  some  other  name  ;  and  I*  presume  that 
is  where  he  made  his  money. 

"  I  also  have  reason  to  think  that  he  was  married 
atone  time,  but  he  never  spoke  to  me  of  having  a 
wife,  and  probably  they  did  not  live  together.  After 
wards  he  drifted  out  of  my  field  of  vision  alto 
gether,  and  I  have  not  seen  him  for  a  number  of 
years — I  don't  know  exactly  how  many.  I  have 
always  suspected  him  of  being  a  thorough-paced 
rogue  ;  but  I  have  always  been  careful  not  to  seek 
confirmation  of  this  suspicion  ;  and  several  times, 
when  he  has  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  telling 
me  some  episode  of  his  career,  I  have  stopped  him, 
and  said  that  I  preferred  to  know  nothing  about  it. 

"  Well,  that  was  the  state  of  affairs  as  between 
him  and  me  when  I  opened  the  letter  the  other 
night.  The  name  signed  at  the  end  of  it  was 
Fowler  Morgan. 

"  I  read  the  letter  with  a  good  deal  of  interest  ; 
and  my  interest  increased  as  I  went  on.  It  was 
a  queer  document,  rambling  and  rather  inco 
herent  at  first,  but  presently  I  gathered  that  the 
man  was  ill  and  expected  to  die.  This  statement 
was  accompanied  with  a  good  deal  of  sacrilegious 
allusion,  characteristic  of  him,  but  unusually  revolt 
ing  in  such  a  connection.  He  went  on  to  say  that 
he  was  alone  in  the  world,  and  had  no  one  but  his 
lawyer  and  doctor  to  look  after  him.  '  I  want  to 
see  you,  Frank,  before  I  peg  out,'  the  letter  contin 
ued,  '  and  I  don't  want  you  to  lose  a  minute  in  com- 


CUNUFFVS  BENEFACTOR.  181 

ing  here,  either.  We  were  always  pals,  in  a  sort  of 
way,  and  1  could  have  made  a  man  of  you,  if  you 
had  had  more  sense  ;  but,  any  way,  you  were  about 
the  only  man  I  took  a  real  shine  to  ;  and  I'll 
prove  it,  too,  before  I'm  done  with  you.  But  you 
needn't  think  I'm  such  a  fool  as  to  suppose  that  you 
would  travel  two  hundred  miles  at  this  time  of  the 
year  to  see  a  pal  who  is  dying  and  has  no  one  to 
say  a  good  word  to  him.  Oh,  no,  I  know  a  trick 
worth  two  of  that  !  You  come  here,  Frank,  and 
you'll  find  it  the  most  paying  investment  you  ever 
made.  It's  a  straight  tip  I'm  giving  you,  my  boy. 
Do  you  remember  a  promise  I  made  to  you  when 
we  were  in  the  college  together  ?  I  do  if  you  don't  : 
and  I  can  keep  a  promise,  when  I  want  to,  as  well 
as  another  man.  Come  down  here  by  the  next 
train,  my  boy,  and  give  me  a  chance  to  show 
that  I'm  a  man  of  my  word  !  ' 

"  I  read  the  letter  over,  and  smoked  another 
cigarette  ;  and  by  the  time  I  had  finished  that  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  Boston  the  next  day.  I 
had  more  than  one  reason  for  being  willing  to  go. 
Things  have  occurred  lately  that  have  made  me  un 
easy  and  nervous,  and  a  change  of  scene  would  be  a 
relief.  Whether  it  was  a  fancy  of  mine  or  not,  I  have 
had  an  impression  of  late  that  I  was  being  dogged 
by  detectives  ;  and  this  seemed  a  good  opportu 
nity  to  give  them  the  slip.  Then  there  was  the  wish 
(stronger  than  you  might  suppose,  or  than  I  myself 
should  have  considered  likely  beforehand)  to  stand 
by  Morgan  in  his  last  hours  ;  and  finally,  I  am  free 


T 82  CUNLIFFE'S  BENEFACTOR. 

to  confess  that  his  hint  as  to  a  legacy  had  no  small 
influence  with  me.  1  have  been  hard^up  lately,  and 
at  my  wits'  end  to  know  what  to  do.  This  seemed 
a  solution  ;  at  all  events  I  went  ;  and  in  order  not  to 
be  annoyed  by  my  detectives  (real  or  imaginary)  I 
was  at  the  pains  to  get  up  at  half-past  five  the  next 
morning  and  leave  the  house  an  hour  later, 
after  having  given  the  housemaid  five  dollars  to  ad 
mit  no  inquisitive  persons  to  my  rooms,  should  any 
call,  and  to  answer  no  questions  should  any  be  asked. 

"  I  got  my  breakfast  at  a  restaurant  on  Sixth 
Avenue  (feeling  a  good  deal  like  a  defaulting  bank 
cashier  on  his  way  to  Canada,  except  that  I  had  no 
stolen  funds  in  my  possession),  read  the  papers, 
smoked  a  cigar,  and  then  set  out  for  the  railway 
station  ;  and,  as  luck  would  have  it,  1  met  a  fellow 
I  knew  on  the  corner  of  Forty-second  Street. 
However,  I  got  off  all  safe,  and  arrived  here  in  due 
course.  After  getting  a  room  at  the  hotel,  I  had 
some  dinner,  and  then  went  to  the  address  given  in 
Morgan's  letter. 

"  It  was  a  commonplace,  respectable-looking 
house  near  the  outer  confines  of  Tremont  Street. 
I  was  admitted  at  once  on  giving  my  name,  and 
found  the  interior  as  featureless  and  barren  as  the 
outside.  Every  thing  was  orderly  "and  conven 
tional,  but  entirely  without  character  or  individu 
ality  ;  no  doubt  an  upholsterer  had  been  given  a 
certain  sum  of  money  and  ordered  to  *  furnish  up 
to  it  '  according  to  his  own  taste.  This  interior 
gave  me  a  new  impression  of  the  essential  empti- 


CUtfLIFFE'S   BENEFACTOR.  183 

ness  and  barrenness  of  Morgan's  mind.  His  brain 
was  always  busy  plotting  and  contriving,  but  he 
had  no  resources,  no  character,  no  moral  or  intel 
lectual  substance  out  of  which  to  make  any  thing. 
He  might  be  the  occasion  of  a  lot  of  mischief,  but 
he  was  nothing  but  a  sort  of  phantom,  after  all. 

"  I  was  taken  up  to  his  bed-room,  and  there  he 
was  lying  in  the  bed,  with  his  night-dress  on,  and  a 
servant,  or  hired  nurse,  to  attend  to  him  and  give 
him  his  medicine.  He  was  as  pale  as  a  corpse 
already,  and  as  thin  as  a  mummy  ;  but  his  face  was 
newly  shaven,  his  hair  oiled  and  brushed,  and  his 
mustache  waxed.  He  used  to  be  a  handsome  fel 
low,  and  was  always  a  dandy  in  his  personal  appear 
ance.  He  kept  that  instinct  up  still. 

"  He  gave  me  a  lean,  cold  hand,  and  grinned, 
showing  his  white  teeth,  and  wrinkling  the  skin 
about  his  mouth  and  eyes.  His  voice  was  very  low, 
but  it  had  the  same  jaunty  tone  as  ever,  and  his 
conversation  was  as  plentifully  sprinkled  with  pro 
fanity.  If  he  had  ever  committed  wickedness  in  his 
life  (as  there  can  be  no  doubt  he  had),  it  was  evi 
dent  that  he  felt  not  the  slightest  remorse,  and  only 
so  much  comprehension  of  what  remorse  meant  as 
to  be  anxious  to  show  none.  Did  you  ever  see  a 
death-bed  repentance  ?  They  may  be  edifying'; 
but  this  spectacle  made  me  realize  as  vividly  as  any 
thing  what  an  ugly  and  horrible  thing  it  must  be  to 
live  and  die  without  ever  having  cared  to  do  or  to 
be  any  thing  good  or  useful. 

"  *  I  know  what  you  came  for,  Frank,'  he  said  at 


184  CUNT.TFFFS   BENEFACTOR. 

last.  'You  came  for  money,  d you!  don't 

deny  it.  Well,  I'm  going  to  hell,  and  have  no  more 
use  for  mine,  so  you  can  have  it.  Much  good  may 
it  do  you,  my  boy  !  May  you  keep  drunk  for 
twelve  months  and  commit  all  the  crimes  in  the 
calendar  !  But  you'll  never  have  as  good  a  time  as 
I've  had  !  I've  beaten  every  thing  and  every  body 
that  I've  had  any  thing  to  do  with.  Oh,  I've  been 
a  devil  :'  nobody  ever  touched  me  that  didn't  regret 
it  !  It's  just  as  I  told  you  when  we  started  out — 
society  is  a  set  of  frauds  and  cowards,  and  the  only 
men  who  get  any  solid  satisfaction  out  of  lite  are 
the  men  of  my  sort !  Look  at  me  now  ! ' 

"  I  did  look  at  him  ;  and  he  must  have  seen 
something  in  my  face  that  told  him  what  I  was 
thinking  of.  It  seemed  to  put  him  out  a  little  ;  the 
swagger  that  he  immediately  assumed  had  some 
thing  appealing  and  pathetic  in  it. 

"  *  I'm  all  right  !  '  he  said.  '  What  if  I  am  rot 
ting  in  my  coffin  by  this  time  to-morrow  ?  I've 
had  my  fling,  haven't  I  ?  No  one  has  got  ahead  of 
me,  has  there  ?  Is  there  any  man  or  woman,  living 
or  dead,  can  say  that  they  ever  found  a  soft  place 
in  Fowler  Morgan?  Do  you  suppose  that  doesn't 
make  me  feel  good  ?  You  don't  know  me  !  They 
can  come  and  spit  at  me  when  I'm  dead,  G — d 

d n  'em  !  but  that  isn't  now.  The  only  thing 

I'm  sorry  for  is  that  my  dying  won't — 

"  However,  I  don't  know  why  I  should  repeat 
all  the  ravings  this  poor  devil  indulged  in  ;  it  was 
bad  enough  to  hear  them  once  for  all.  Meanwhile 


CUNLIFFES  BENEFACTOR.  185 

he  was  dying  fast,  and  he  knew  it  ;  and  v.hat  was 
more,  he  was  really  in  ghastly  terror  of  the  end, 
and  was  talking  to  try  and  keep  up  his  courage. 
His  voice  grew  so  low  that  I  could  scarcely  hear  it. 
At  ten  o'clock  that  evening  the  doctor  came  in — a 
fine,  ruddy,  powerful-looking  fellow — and  examined 
him.  The  disease  was  some  affection  of  the  vis 
cera,  and  was  now  in  its  last  stages.  Morgan  kept 
his  eyes  on  the  doctor  with  an  odd  expression,  as. 
if  he  would  have  liked  to  drink  his  blood  and  so 
get  the  health  and  strength  that  were  so  conspic 
uous  in  him  ;  and  though  he  seemed  to  hate  him 
for  being  so  well  and  hearty,  yet  he  found  a  sort  of 
comfort  in  having  him  near  ;  and  at  last  he  said, 
'Say,  doc,  what  will  you  take  to  stay  here  until 
to-morrow?'  The  doctor  said  he  couldn't  do  it. 
'Come,  now,'  said  Morgan,  '  take  a  thousand  dol 
lars  and  stay  !  I'll  give  you  cash.'  The  doctor 
shook  his  head.  Morgan  went  on  raising  his  bid 
until  he  had  offered  him  ten  thousand  dollars  to 
spend  the  night  in  that  room.  Then  the  doctor 
looked  him  in  the  face  and  said,  '  I'd  stay  for  noth 
ing  if  it  would  do  you  any  good.  But  it  would 
not,  and  I  have  other  patients  to  look  after  ;  I  want 
my  regular  fee,  and  no  more.'  Morgan  said,  '  If 

you  don't  stay,  G— d  d n  your  soul,  you  shall 

have  nothing  !  Now,  then  !  Ten  thousand  dollars 
or  nothing  !  And  with  that  he  dragged  out  a  wallet 
from  under  the  pillow,  and  actually  took  out  of  it 
ten  one  thousand  dollar  bills,  and  shook  them  at 
the  doctor,  and  whispered— he  could  not  speak 


1 86  CUNLIFFE'S  BENEFACTOR. 

aloud—'  There  you  are  !  Ten  thousand— or  noth 
ing  !'  The  doctor  just  turned  td  the  nurse  and 
gave  some  directions  about  the  medicine,  and  then 
moved  towards  the  door.  I  expected  to^see  Mor 
gan  fly  into  a  fury  of  rage  ;  but  instead  of  that  he 
quieted  right  down  and  said  :  '  Say*  doc,  how  am  I 
getting  on  ?  how  long  do  you  give  me  ? '  The  doc 
tor  faced  about  on  him  and  said  :  '  Do  you  want  to 
know  the  truth?'  'Yes,  if  you  know  how  to  tell 
it.'  The  doctor  waited  a  moment  or  two,  as  if 
doubting  whether  to  take  him  at  his  word  or  not ; 
at  last  he  replied,  '  You  can't  live  longer  than  till 
noon  to-morrow.'  Then  he  went  out. 

"  Morgan  glanced  at  me  with  a  terrible  expres 
sion  ;  but  the  next  instant  he  forced  one  of  his 
grins  and  said  :  "  There  goes  a  liar  and  a  fool. 
He  thought  he'd  scare  me,  but  I'm  more  of  a  man 
than  he  is,  now  !  As  for  the  money,  it'll  go  into 
your  pocket  instead  of  his,  that's  all.'  He  stuffed 
the  bills  back  in  his  wallet,  and  then  lay  for  a 
long  time— an  hour  at  least— without  uttering  a 
word.  I  can  only  imagine  what  his  thoughts  were 
during  that  time.  I  would  not  have  liked 
to  have  had  them.  Finally  he  roused  himself  and 
stared  round  the  room,  ending  at  last  on  me.  He 
had  changed  ;  his  nerve  was  leaving  him  ;  every 
little  while  he  gave  a  shiver,  and  glanced  about 
as  if  something  frightened  him.  'That's  right, 
Frank,'  he  said  to  me  ;  '  you  won't  go  back  on  me, 
will  you?  I'll  make  it  right  with  you,  never  fear  ! 
This  is  my  bad  time  ;  I'll  be  all  right— again  in 


CUNLIFFES  BENEFACTOR.  187 

the  morning.'  He  kept  shivering  more  and  more, 
and  his  face  grew  even  more  haggard.  It  was 
hideous  to  see  those  carefully  waxed  mustaches  on 
such  a  face.  By  and  by  he  got  hold  of  his  wallet 
again,  and  took  a  key  out  of  it,  and  told  me  to  un 
lock  a  desk  near  the  bed,  and  bring  him  what  I 
found  in  it.  There  were  two  wills,  dated  the  same 
day,  and,  as  I  saw  when  he  opened  them,  signed 
and  attested.  He  put  his  hand  on  one  of  them  and 
whispered,  *  This  gives  it  to  you.  If  you  hadn't 
come,  I'd  have  burned  it  and  kept  the  other.'  He 
lay  there  holding  one  of  the  wills  in  one  hand  and 
the  other  in  the  other  ;  and  so  he  lay,  shivering 
and  glaring,  and  now  and  then  making  odd  little 
noises  in  his  throat — thin,  falsetto  sounds — until 
nearly  four  in  the  morning. 

"  I  was  not  in  the  least  sleepy,  but  I  have  never 
passed  such  disagreeable  hours  as  those  were.  I 
wanted  to  go  away — I'd  have  given  all  the  little  I'm 
worth  to  have  done  it — but  I  couldn't.  I  felt  that 
so  long  as  he  was  human  I  must  stay  with  him. 
At  four  o'clock  he  sat  up  in  bed,  and  I  thought 
something  ugly  was  going  to  happen.  But  he  said 
he  wanted  to  be  moved  over  to  the  fire. 

"  There  was  a  big  open  grate,  with  a  heaped 
up,  glowing  coal. fire  in  it.  At  one  side  of  it  was 
a  sofa  for  the  nurse  to  sleep  on.  It  was  his  idea  to 
be  lifted  on  to  that.  We  took  him  up  and  laid  him 
there,  and  pulled  round  the  sofa  so  that  it  stood 
in  front  of  the  fire,  for  he  seemed  unable  to  get 
warm  enough.  There  he  lay,  with  a  will  in  either 


1 83  ?Utff.tFPE*S  BENEFACTOR. 

hand  ;  and  when  he  found  himself  settled  to  hi^ 
satisfaction  he  turned  to  me  with  a  cunning  leer 
and  said,  *  Now  I've  got  you.  If  you  stir  out  of 
this  room,  I'll  put  your  will  on  the  fire.  If  you 
stay  till  the  doctor  comes  in  the  morning,  I'll  buril 
the  other.'  I  said  nothing  ;  the  whole  situation 
made  me  feel  sick.  '  Do  you  know  who  the  other 
is  in  favor  of  ? '  he  asked.  '  It's  in  favor  of  the 
man  I  hate  most  in  the  world  !  '  he  said. 

"  So  there  I  sat  and  waited — for  what,  was  more 
than  I  could  tell.  It  seemed  like  a  sort  of  race 
between  death,  Morgan,  and  myself.  Death  was 
sure  to  catch  him  before  long  ;  but  Morgan  lay 
ready  to  do  the  most  harm  he  could  to  the  only 
man  in  the  world  who  could  be  called  his  friend, 
if  that  man  should  turn  aside  before  the  race  was 
over.  As  for  me,  as  I  sat  there  I  conceived  such 
a  loathing  of  this  money  of  Morgan's,  and  of  the 
idea  that  I  was  going  to  inherit  it,  and  such  a  dis 
gust  at  this  sordid  suspense,  that  more  than  once 
I  was  on  the  point  of  jumping  up  and  throwing 
the  wretched  will  into  the  fire  myself,  or  leaving 
the  room  in  order  that  he  might  do  so.  But  I 
abstained,  not,  as  I  honestly  think,  from  any  base 
motive,  but  because  after  all  the  man  was  dying, 
and  he  wished  me  to  be  there.  He  was  treating 
me  as  if  I  were  the  lowest  kind  of  sneak  and  black 
guard  ;  and  yet  he  considered  me,  I  suppose,  as 
good  a  man  as  had  ever  lived  in  the  world,  and 
cared  for  me  as  much  as  such  a  man  as  he  was 
capable  of  caring  for  any  body.  It  was  a  strange 


CUNLIFFE'S  BENEFACTOR. 

'  he 

and   revolting  position  ;   and    I    shall  never  -ecj 
get  it. 

u  During  the  last  hours  of  darkness  not  a  syllable 
was  uttered  by  anybody  ;  I  sat  most  of  the  time 
looking  at  the  fire  ;  but  I  was  conscious  of  Mor 
gan's  eye  fixed  upon  me,  watching  me  as  a  cat 
watches  a  mouse,  or  rather  as  one  man  watches 
another  whom  he  suspects  of  an  intention  to  mur 
der  him.  I  felt,  and  perhaps  he  did,  that  the 
strain  was  wearing  on  him,  and  would  probably 
shorten  the  few  hours  he  had  to  live  ;  indeed,  he 
weakened  and  sank  visibly  ;  but  he  held  on  with  a 
forlorn,  ghastly  pertinacity  ;  there  was  nothing  else 
for  him  in  the  world. 

"  At  last  the  light  of  dawn  shone  through  the 
crevices  of  the  blinds  into  the  gas-lit  room  ;  and  I 
could  hear  the  wind  rising  and  sweeping  down  the 
street,  pure  and  freezing,  making  me  loathe  still 
more  the  hot,  close  air  of  the  bedchamber.  Sounds 
began  to  be  audible  from  without  :  people  hurrying 
along,  and  a  horse-car  jingling  by.  Another  change 
came  over  Morgan,  and  it  came  suddenly  ;  he 
seemed  to  sink  all  at  once  into  a  heap  ;  his  head 
fell  forward  on  his  breast,  and  he  breathed  short 
and  sharply,  trying  to  moisten  his  lips  with  his 
tongue  ;  his  eyes  rolled  this  way  and  that  in  a  kind 
of  speechless  terror  and  despair.  I  held  a  glass  of 
water  to  his  mouth,  and  he  tried  to  drink  some, 
but  could  not. 

"  The  door-bell  rang  downstairs.  The  sound 
went  through  Morgan's  body  tike,  a  galvanic  shock. 


1 8$ 

CUNLIFFE'S  BliNEFA  CTOR. 
hand  : 

satirised  up,  gasping  for  breath,  anc]   .stretching 

arneck  towards  the  door.     Steps  were  coming  up- 

otairs  ;  the  door  opened,  and  there  was  the  doctor. 

"  Morgan  gave  a  cry  ;  whether  it  signified  triumph, 
or  rage,  or  whether  it  was  an  involuntary  shriek  of 
exhausted  strength,  I  don't  know.  He  twisted 
himself  round  toward  the  fire,  and  swayed  over, 
with  the  will  in  his  hand,  as  if  to  put  it  on  the  coals. 
I  sprang  to  save  him,  but  I  was  not  in  time.  He 
fell  over  into  the  grate,  with  his  face  against  the 
red-hot  coals,  and  had  lain  so  for  a  second  or  more 
before  the  doctor  and  I  could  pull  him  off.  We 
laid  him  on  his  back  on  the  sofa.  His  face  was 
already  unrecognizable — hideously  disfigured.  I 
think  that  he  lived  for  a  few  minutes  after,  but  I  am 
not  sure  ;  it  may  have  been  simply  an  involuntary 
quivering  of  the  nerves. 

"  Meanwhile,  the  will  that  he  had  put  on  the 
fire  had  burned  up,  without  either  of  us  attending 
to  it.  But  when  Morgan  was  quite  dead,  the  doc 
tor  picked  up  the  other  will,  which  lay  on  the  floor 
beside  the  fender,  and,  after  glancing  at  it,  said 
rather  drily,  «  I  may  congratulate  you,  General 
Weymouth.  That  is  your  name,  I  suppose  ? ' 

"  I  didn't  understand  him.  *  My  name  is  Cun- 
liffe,'  I  said. 

"  '  I  beg  your  pardon  !  This  will  devises  the 
property  to  General  Weymouth,  and  I  presumed,  as 
he  burned  the  other,  that  you  must  be  the  heir.  I 
know  the  burned  will  was  in  favor  of  a  Mr.  Cun- 
liffe,  for  I  witnessed  the  signature.  I  hope  the 


CUNLIFFE'S  BENEFACTOR.  *9 l 

poor  creature  made  no  mistake  at  the  last,"  he 
added,  giving  me  a  sudden  glance,  '  and  destroyed 
the  one  he  meant  to  save.' 

"  It  was  a  moment  before  I  comprehended  what 
had  happened  ;  but  when  I  did,  a  load  went  off  my 
soul  and  left  me  feeling  all  over  new  ;  such  a 
burst  of 'joy  I  never  experienced  ;  and  I  knew  what 
it  meant  to  thank  God.  As  soon  as  I  could  speak, 
I  said,  '  There  was  no  mistake,  doctor.  Mr.  Mor 
gan  did  just  as  I  wished  him  to  do.' 

" <  Ah ! '  he  said,  with  another  keen  look.  *  Well  ; 
if  you  are  content,  no  one  else  has  a  right  to  com 
plain.  But  all  this  is  rather  irregular.  We  must  get 
a  lawyer  or  somebody  to  take  the  proper  measures 
here.  If  you  consent,  I  will  send  one  of  the  ser 
vants  ;  '  he  rang  the  bell,  and  the  servant  was  de 
spatched  on  his  errand.  The  doctor  and  the  nurse 
busied  themselves  with  the  body,  and  I  opened 
the  window  blinds  and  stood  looking  out. 

"  Thank  God  it  fell  out  as  it  did.  But  it  is  an 
interesting  speculation  whether  Morgan  burned  the 
will  he  meant  to  ;  and,  if  not,  whether  he  realized 
before  he  died  that  he  had  enriched  the  man  he 
called  his  worst  enemy  !  " 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

IN    DOUBT. 

S~"  UCH  was  the  substance  of  the  letter  written  by 
Cunliffe  to  John  Talbot,  who  communicated 
something  of  its  general  purport  to  the  mistress  of 
his  heart,  Miss  Betty  Claverhouse.  Betty,  in  turn 
had  given  certain  echoes  of  it  to  that  interesting 
stranger,  Mr,  Hamill,  and  Mr.  Hamill,  acting  upon 
the  hints  thus  obtained,  started  for  Boston,  and 
arrived  there  an  hour  after  Cunliffe,  having  at- 
iended  Morgans  funeral,  had  left  Boston  on  his 
way  back  to  New  York.  The  events  of  his  sojourn 
there  had  made  a  profound  impression  on  him. 

His  first  act  upon  reaching  the  city  was  to  call 
on  Kitty  Clive.  He  told  her  the  story  of  his  ex 
perience,  and  she  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing 
in  Fowler  Morgan  the  Fowler  whom  General  Wey- 
mouth  had  mentioned  to  her  in  the  narrative  of 
his  own  life.  It  was  apparent,  therefore,  that  Mor 
gan  had  at  least  contemplated  an  act  of  restitu 
tion  ;  and  either  accident,  or  possibly  some  incal 
culable  caprice  of  the  mind  at  the  very  moment  of 
dissolution,  had  carried  the  remote  contingency 
into  actual  effect.  General  Weymouth  would  be 
a  couple  of  hundred  thousand  dollars  the  richer; 


IN-  DOUBT.  193 

"but,"  said  Cunliffe,  turning  a  grave  look  upon 
Kitty,  after  she  had  enlightened  him  as  to  the 
general's  relations  with  Morgan,  "  I  have  had  a 
lesson  which  is  worth  a  great  deal  more  than  that 
to  me." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  she  replied  ;  "  and  I  am 
glad  that  the  general  is  to  get  restitution  at  last  ; 
but  for  all  that  I  wish  you  could  have  had  at  least 
half  of  the  money." 

"  Such  money  could  have  brought  me  no  good," 
he  replied.  "  The  only  money  worth  having  is 
what  a  man  honestly  earns — or,  at  the  least, 
honestly  inherits — for  himself.  If  I  had  taken 
Morgan's  money,  I  should  have  made  myself  a 
party  to  his  rascality.  If  the  temptation  had  been 
offered  me,  I  hope  I  should  have  been  man  enough 
to  resist  it ;  but  I  am  glad  I  was  not  given  the 
opportunity." 

"  But  if  you  had  not  known  that  the  money  was 
fraudulently  come  by — and  it  is  only  the  accident 
of  my  acquaintance  with  the  general  that  gave  you 
the  knowledge  —  then,  surely,  there  would  have 
been  no  reason  to  refuse." 

"  It  may  sound  Quixotic  in  me  if  I  say  that  I 
would  refuse,"  answered  Cunliffe,  "  and  I  am  not 
speaking  of  the  abstract  rights  of  the  question,  but 
only  as  it  affects  myself.  If  you  had  seen  what  I 
have  seen  during  these  last  few  days  you  would 
think  as  I  do.  I  have  always  felt  that  there  was  a 
great  deal  in  me  that  was  like  Morgan,  and  that,  if 
our  circumstances  had  been  reversed,  I  might  have 


194  IN  DOUBT. 

become  very  much  as  he  was.  But  even  as  it  is,  if 
1  have  done  no  active  and  malicious  mischief,  I 
have  done  no  good.  I  have  had  no  aim  but  to  be 
as  idle  and  comfortable  as  I  could.  1  have  spent 
all  my  income  on  myself,  and  when  I  lost  it, 
instead  of  setting  to  work  to  get  some  honest  em 
ployment,  I  only  sat  down  and  wished  that  some 
thing  would  turn  up  to  relieve  me.  Now  that  I 
look  back  upon  it  I  can  see  that  I  was  not  very  far 
from  becoming  a  criminal  then,  and  if  Morgan  had 
come  to  me  at  that  time,  and  proposed  some  shady 
transaction  or  other,  that  was  not  too  openly  and 
brazenly  flagitious,  I  believe  I  should  have  been  in 
great  danger  of  striking  hands  with  him.  And  if  I 
had  once  begun,  I  know  enough  of  myself  to  know 
that  I  would  not  have  stopped  this  side  of  State 
prison." 

"  You  know  yourself  very  little  to  think  such  a 
thing,"  returned  Kitty,  the  color  coming  slowly 
into  her  face. 

"  You  have  never  felt  criminal  impulses,  and  you 
can  not  judge  of  them.  I  have  felt,  for  some  weeks 
past,  a  sensation  as  if,  somehow,  crime  were  not 
far  off  from  me,  and  that  notion  about  which  I 
spoke  to  you,  that  I  was  being  dogged  by  detec 
tives,  was  probably  connected  with  it." 

Kitty  moved  her  head  as  if  about  to  speak,  but 
on  second  thought  seemed  to  alter  her  purpose. 
She  kept  regarding  Cunliffe  with  a  troubled  look. 

"  Such  a  man  as  I  am  can  not  afford  to  run  any 
risks  with  his  moral  character,"  he  went  on,  "  and 


IN  DOUBT.  *95 

I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  strike  out  a  new  path 
while  the  influence  of  this  experience  is  still  fresh 
upon  me.  I  have  sent  in  my  resignation  to  the 
club,  and  to-morrow  I  am  going  to  look  for  some 
thing  to  do.  And  I  will  find  something,  too,  if  it's 
only  to  be  janitor  to  an  apartment-house." 

"  I  do  not  say  you  ought  to  do  nothing,"  Kitty 
observed  in  an  abstracted  tone.  "  I  dare  say  that 
some  business  that  is  suited  to  you  would  make 
you  happy,  no  matter  whether  you  actually  needed 
the  money  it  brought  you  or  not.  But  that  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  refuse  money  that  you  had 
not  earned  if  it  came  to  you.  Suppose,  for  instance, 
that  Maxwell  Golding  could  be  compelled  to  restore 
you  the  money  you  lost  in  his  stocks — wouldn't 
you  feel  that  you  had  a  right  to  that  ? " 

"  I  don't  want  any  thing  from  Maxwell  Golding 
or  any  body  else,"  returned  Cunliffe  with  a  smile. 
"  I  lost  my  money  gambling,  and  Golding,  even  if 
he  had  known  that  my  money  was  among  his  win 
nings,  had  a  perfect  right  to  keep  it.  Besides, 
Kitty,  it  isn't  money  that  I  most  care  for— though 
I  shouldn't  blame  you  for  thinking  otherwise.  In 
fact,  it  is  a  good  while  since  I  began  to  care  most 
for  something  else  ;  and  yet,  if  this  affair  had  not 
occurred,  I  doubt  if  I  should  have  had  the  courage 
and  self-respect  to  acknowledge  it  to  myself— or  to 
speak  of  it  to  you." 

Something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice  seemed  to 
startle  Kitty,  and  an  expression  of  mingled  in 
credulity  and  fear  came  into  her  face.  As  his  eyes 


I96  IN  DOUBT. 

met  hers  she  put  out  one  hand  as  if  to  ward  off  a 
blow. 

"You  must  hear  it,  Kitty,"  he  said,  "for  this  is 
the  time  to  tell  you.  I  love  you."  He  stood  up 
before  her  and  said  again,  "  I  love  you,  Kitty — I 
am  all  yours,  heart  and  soul.  Don't  say  you  can't 
—you  have  not  tried— do  try  to  love  me  !  to  have 
you  my  wife  !— Kitty,  if  there  is  any  thing  a  man 
may  do  to  win  you  let  me  know  it  ! — I  can  not 
hear  you  say  no  !  I  love  you — you  are  heaven  and 
earth  to  me — you  are  the  only  want  and  passion  of 
my  heart  !  Say  that  I  spoke  too  soon,  or  that  you 
haven't  thought  of  it— that  you  must  have  time,, 
but  don't  tell  me  that  you  can  never  love  me  !  " 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  pressed  her 
hands  over  her  eyes.  "  Oh,  Frank,  Frank  !  "  she 
said. 

"  It  need  not  be  now  ;  only  let  it  be  to  come,"  he 
went  on.  "I  told  you  now  because  this  is  the 
beginning  of  a  new  life.  I  am  going  to  begin  to 
be  a  man  ;  I  only  want  you  to  let  me  feel  that,  if  I 
succeed,  I  may  hope  to  have  you  ;  whatever  I 
became  would  be  worthless  without  you.  Just  the 
hope  is  all  I  ask.  Can  it  not  be  ?  It  must  be  !  " 

"I  am  afraid!  I  am  afraid!"  she  murmured, 
still  covering  her  face.  "  I  can't — I  can  never  tell 
you  !  " 

"  What  can  you  not  tell  me  ? "  he  said,  kneeling 
on  one  knee  beside  her,  and  trying  to  draw  away 
her  hands.  "You  need  not  say — you  needn't 
decide  this  moment  whether  you  care  for  me,  I 


IN  DOUBT.  197 

•didn't  expect  it,  love  ;  how  could  I  ?  Only  say  you 
may — say  you  will  try  !  I  will  not  ask  you  to  be 
my  wife  until  I  can  support  you,  Kitty,  and  that 
may  be  a  long  while  yet." 

"  Don't  touch  me  ! "  said  she  in  a  low  but 
vehement  tone.  "  Let  me  alone — let  me  think  ! 
I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

Cunliffe  rose  and  drew  back  a  step,  trying  to 
fathom  what  might  be  passing  in  the  girl's  mind. 
He  was  himself  in  somewhat  of  a  tremor  from  the 
strength  of  the  emotion  which  he  had  expressed, 
and  which,  in  its  overmastering  sway,  was  a  reve 
lation  even  to  him.  We  do  not  know  our  souls 
until  we  strip  off  the  fetters  of  habit  and  lethargy 
that  bind  them.  Cunliffe  could  see  that  Kitty  was 
under  the  influence  of  some  passionate  feeling,  but 
of  what  nature  it  was  beyond  him  to  determine. 
That  he  had  awakened  it  seemed  evident  ;  but 
whether  or  not  he  was  the  subject  of  it  was  another 
question. 

After  a  minute  or  two  Kitty  got  up  from  her 
chair  and  paced  twice  or  thrice  up  and  down  the 
room.  At  length  she  came  up  to  Cunliffe  and  took 
both  his  hands  in  hers. 

"  Frank,  we  must  both  wait  before  committing 
ourselves,"  said  she.  "  I  expected  nothing  so  little 
as  this  ;  I  have  never  imagined  you  would  look  on 
me  as  any  thing  but  a  friend — a  friend  and  cousin. 
As  long  as  I  was  only  that,  it  did  not  make  much 
difference  what  else  I  was,  or  what  I  did.  But  to 
be  the  only  woman  in  the  world  to  you — that  would 


]9  IN  DOUBT. 

change  every  thing  ;  it  would  involve  your  know 
ing  things  that  I  never  meant  or  wanted  you  to 
know.  I  can  only  now  say  that  if  I  had  fore 
seen  what  was  to  come  I  should  have  acted 
differently  in  several  ways.  I  must  take 
counsel  with  myself,  and  decide  whether— 
this— is  possible.  I  want  you  to  be  happy, 
Frank,"  she  added,  with  a  faltering  of  the 
voice,  "  but  I  don't  want  you — or  either  of  us — to 
make  a  mistake  that  could  never  be  rectified. 
Let  every  thing  be  as  if  you  had  never  spoken,  for 
a  few  days  ;  then  come  again,  if  you  still  think  it 
best,  and  I  will  talk  openly  with  you.  I  can  say 
nothing  more  now,  or  I  would  say  too  much." 

"  I  have  perfect  trust  in  you,  Kitty,"  said  Cun- 
liffe,  trying  to  kiss  her  hands,  which  she  would  not 
allow.  "  Nothing  can  alter  the  love  I  feel  for  you, 
except  to  increase  it.  If  you  have  been  drawn  into 
any  other  engagement — "  She  shook  her  head — 
— "  well,  then,  there  can  be  nothing  else  to  separate 
us  ;  I  mean,  if  you  can  love  me." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  drew  her  hands  from  his, 
and  turned  her  face  away  from  him.  He  went  to 
the  door. 

"  I  shan't  stay  away  long,"  said  he  ;  "  my  thoughts 
will  never  be  away  from  you  at  all.  I  care  for 
nothing  but  to  be  with  you  always." 

"  It  shall  not  be  long,"  she  answered,  without 
looking  at  him  ;  "  but,  until  then,  good-by  !  " 

After  leaving  her,  Cunliffe  walked  along  the 
streets  in  a  state  of  preoccupation  so  profound  that 


7AT  DOUBT.  199 

he  did  not  know  where  he  was  going.  At  last  he 
came  to  himself  ;  and  finding,  by  consulting  his 
watch,  that  it  was  late  enough  for  Talbot  to  have 
returned  home  from  his  office,  and  his  wanderings 
having  brought  him  into  the  neighborhood  of  the 
house,  he  repaired  thither  and  found  his  friend 

in. 

«  Hullo,  Cunliffe,  I'm  glad  you  came  out  alive, 
was  the  latter's  greeting.       "  You   look  like   your 
letter,  and  I  couldn't  say  any  worse  of  you." 

«  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  away  about  twenty 
years,"  said  the  other.  "  Has  New  York  changed 
much  since  I  was  here  ?  " 

"  It  is  no  better.  By  the  way,  did  you  happen  to 
run  across  any  of  your  New  York  acquaintances 
while  you  were  there  ?  " 

"  No." 

"You    know    a    man    named   Hamilton,   don't 

you  ?  " 

"  Captain  Hamilton— an  Englishman—visiting  at 

the  club.     Yes." 

"  Well,  I  have  reason  to  think  that  he  is  not  all 
that  he  appears  to  be  ;  and  when  you   next  meet 
him  I  wouldn't  confide  to  him  your  bosom  secrets, 
if  I  were  you.     He  might  give  you  away." 
"  What  gives  you  that  idea  ?  " 
"  Oh,  a  little  bird  told  me.     He  was  looking  after 
you  the  other  day,   and  when  he    learned  (by  an 
inadvertence  of  my  own,  for  which  I  have  been 
kicking  myself  ever  since)  that  you  were  gone  to 
Boston  he  left  for  that  town  in  such  a  hurry  that 


JAr  DOUBT. 

he  forgot  to  take  the  last  syllable  of  his  name  with 
him." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  What  is  the  meaning  of 
it  ?" 

"  I  am  in  earnest  ;  but  you  ought  to  know  better 
than  I  what  your  sins  have  been.  Don't  confess 
them  to  me,  though  ;  for  in  case  I  am  called  as  a 
witness  I  want  to  be  able  to  say  '  I  don't  know/ 
with  a  clear  conscience." 

"  Hamilton,  of  all  men  ?  "  muttered  Cunliffe,  in 
deep  perplexity.  "  I  knew  something  was  going  on 
behind  the  scenes  ;  but  how  comes  Hamilton  to  be 
mixed  up  in  it  ?  And  what  can  it  be,  anyway  ? " 

Meanwhile  the  following  telegrams  had  passed 
between  Boston  and  the  Detective  Bureau  in  New 
York.  The  first  was  from  Boston  : 

"C.  has  left  here.  He  attended  funeral  of  No. 
2007.  Suspicious  circumstances.  Wire  instruc 
tions."  To  this  came  the  answer  : 

"  C.  certainly  not  our  man.  Letter  answering 
personal  posted,  and  received  here  during  his 
absence.  Return  at  once." 

And  Captain  Hamilton  took  the  next  train  to 
New  York. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

PANIC. 

CAPTAIN  HAMILTON  had  a  quality  which,  as 
O  much  perhaps  as  any  other,  has  been  con 
ducive  to  human  knowledge  and  the  progress  of 
enlightenment — the  quality  of  curiosity.  He  liked 
to  inform  himself  as  to  what  other  people  were 
doing,  and  whenever  possible  to  see  with  his  own 
eyes  what  was  going  on.  A  city  like  New  York 
affords  an  almost  inexhaustible  field  of  observation 
to  the  intelligent  foreigner  ;  and  among  the  many 
spectacles  worth  looking  at,  perhaps  none  yields 
in  interest  to  that  of  Wall  Street  when  speculation 
is  sharp,  and  quotations  are  running  up  and  down 
like  the  waves  of  a  stormy  sea. 

One  morning,  shortly  after  the  events  above  nar 
rated,  the  Captain  found  himself  on  the  lower  part 
of  Broadway  ;  and,  as  luck  would  have  it,  he 
suddenly  saw  the  broad  back  of  Gilbert  Cowran  a 
few  paces  in  front  of  him  on  the  sidewalk.  He 
quickened  his  steps  and  overtook  him. 

"  Oh,  Hamilton,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  you  are  just 
in  time  to  see  some  fun.  Have  you  half  an  hour  at 
liberty  ?  " 


2O2 


PANIC, 


"  Always  at  your  service  for  at  least  so  long," 
the  other  replied  cheerfully.  "  What  is  going  on 
to-day  ?  " 

"  They  say  that  some  of  the  big  fellows  are  out 
on  a  foraging  expedition.  Come  along  and  we'll 
have  a  look  at  them  !  " 

"I  should  like  it  of  all  things,"  said  the  captain. 
"  I've  been  on  the  Bourse  two  or  three  times,  and 
once  I  saw  a  young  fellow  walk  quietly  out  and 
stand  at  the  top  of  the  steps,  and  take  a  revolver 
out  of  his  pocket  and  blow  the  top  of  his  head  off. 
But  I  understand  that  it  is  much  more  exciting 
here." 

"  We  don't  blow  the  tops  of  our  heads  off,  as  a 
rule,"  Cowran  answered,  "  but  we  have  plenty  of 
calisthenics,  and  we  exercise  our  lungs.  Americans 
are  not  tragic,  as  a  nation — not  even  dramatic  ; 
they  believe  that  a  man  isn't  necessarily  beaten 
because  he's  knocked  down  once  or  twice  ;  they 
are  always  ready  to  try  again,  and  to  help  others  to 
do  so.  But  they  have  tremendous  larks,  all  the 
same,  and  sometimes,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  fun 
gets  pretty  serious.  I  know  that  of  my  own 
knowledge." 

"  I  recollect,"  said  the  Captain,  smiling.  "  That 
time  you  and  Golding  had  a  little  bout." 

"  As  to  that  matter,"  remarked  Cowran,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  "  I  feel  bound  to  modify  some 
of  the  language  that  I  used  in  your  hearing  the 
other  day.  I  was  very  bitter  against  Golding  at 
the  time  I  was  cleaned  out,  because  I  believed  that 


PANIC.  203 

he  had  done  it  of  malice  aforethought,  to   get  me 
out  of  the  way ;  and  I  have  borne  a  grudge  against 
him  for  it  ever  since,  and  haven't  spared  to  give  my 
opinion  of  him  in  season  and  out.     But  I  am  con 
vinced,  now,  that  I  did  him  injustice.     He  did  not 
know  that  I  was  in  the  market  at  the  time,  and    he 
had  not  foreseen  the  contingency  that  obliged  him 
to  reverse  all  his  plans  at  a  moment's  notice.  What 
he  had  said  to  me  previously  had  been  said  in  good 
faith.     When  the  affair  was  over,  and   I   was  beg 
gared,  I  went  to   him  and  spoke  my  mind  without 
hunting  for  polite  phrases  ;  and  he  made  no   reply 
whatever  ;  but  when   I  had  finished,  he  turned  in 
his  chair  and  went  on  writing.     That  put  me  in  a 
greater  rage  than  ever ;  but  I  can  understand  now 
that   I  interpreted  his  silence  the  wrong  way.     He 
^had  a  pride  of  his  own,  and  when  I  attacked  him 
without  waiting  to  ask  him  how  it  happened  he  was 
not  going  to  trouble  himself  to  make  any  explana 
tions.  I  took  it  for  granted  that  he  did  all  he  could 
to  keep  me  down  afterwards  ;  but   he   is  a  bigger 
man  than   I  gave  him  credit  for  being,  and  really 
seems  to  be  above  personal  animosities.     I  have 
lately  discovered  that,  so  far  from  trying  to  keep 
me  down,  he  was  the  means  of  putting  within  my 
reach  the  means  of  getting  up  again.     He  did  it, 
and  he  took  pains  not  to  let  me  know  that  he  was 
doing  it— for  fear,  I   suppose,  that   I  would   fling 
his  favors  back  in  his  face.  But  I  was  in  the  wrong  ; 
and  now,  that  I  am  sure  of  it,  I'm  going  to  take  the 
first  opportunity  I  can  find  to  tell  him  so."      • 


PANIC. 

"And  a  capital  thing,  too  !  "  exclaimed  the  Cap 
tain  cordially.  "  I'm  delighted  to  .hear  it  !  " 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  head  of  Wall 
Street,  where  it  debouches  on  Broadway  ;  and  this 
spot,  which  is  always  full  of  movement,  was  to-day 
much  more  crowded  than  usual  ;  the  bulk  of  the 
current  setting  down  the  narrow  street,  though 
there  were  eddies,  momentarily  stationary,  here 
and  there,  and  also  an  occasional  opposition  cur 
rent,  where  persons  with  hurried  steps  and  urgent 
faces  forced  their  way  through  the  crowd,  or  glided 
in  and  out  with  cunning  evasions,  like  the  argu 
ments  of  some  super-subtle  attorneys. 

As  Cowran  and  his  companion  worked  their  way 
down  the  street,  the  press  became  momentarily 
greater  and  the  noise  of  voices  more  noticeable, 
while  ever  and  anon  louder  exclamations  or  calls 
rose  above  the  general  level  of  clamor.  At  the  point 
where  Wall  Street  joins  Broad  Street,  a  scene  opened 
out  which  no  one  could  contemplate  without  par 
taking  in  a  greater  or  less  degree  of  the  prevailing 
excitement.  The  last-named  thoroughfare  deserves 
its  name,  being  more  like  a  long  square  than  a 
street  ;  and  it  was  filled  to  the  brim  with  a  crowd 
of  men  who  were  rushing  in  all  directions  at  once, 
aimlessly  to  all  appearance,  but  in  reality  upon 
most  genuine  and  definite  business.  Here  the  roar 
that  had  been  loud  in  Wall  Street  took  on  a  broader 
and  fuller  volume  of  sound,  that  filled  the  ear 
and  made  the  brain  vibrate.  The  throng  was  most 
dense  and  at  the  same  time  most  active  in  front 


PANIC.  205 

of  the  portico  of  a  building  with  a  white  mar 
ble  fa£ade,  that  stood  on  the  west  side  of  the 
street  near  the  Wall  Street  corner.  A  short  flight 
of  steps  led  up  to  this  door,  and  upon,  and  down, 
and  across,  and  round  those  steps,  and  in  and  out 
of  the  door,  a  human  surf  beat  and  rolled  and 
spouted  forth,  and  hurtled  in,  as  if  the  greatest 
treasure  and  the  greatest  honor  in  the  world  were 
both  hidden  behind  the  portals.  Men  fought 
with  obstinate  determination  to  get  in,  and  others 
leaped  forth  with  white  faces,  and  in  frantic  haste, 
as  though  Satan  himself  were  at  their  heels.  It 
was  strange,  in  the  midst  of  this  bewildering  tur 
moil,  to  look  at  the  marble  front  of  the  building, 
with  a  blank,  impassive  countenance,  lifting  itself 
above  the  din  and  struggle  with  the  quiet  indiffer 
ence  of  the  dead. 

"  We  can't  get  in  that  way,"  shouted  Cowran 
in  his  companion's  ear.  "  We  must  try  the  side 
door." 

They  turned,  and  struggled  up  the  street  again, 
and  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  brisk  conflict, 
they  forced  their  way  into  the  Exchange  by  a  com 
paratively  unfrequented  route,  in  the  passage  of 
which,  however,  Cowran  had  his  silk  hat  crushed 
as  flat  as  a  soup-plate,  and  one  of  the  Captain's 
coat-tails  was  nearly  severed  from  the  garment  to 
which  it  appertained.  Both  of  the  men  were  quite 
out  of  breath,  and,  though  the  temperature  was 
considerably  below  the  freezing-point,  they  were 
in  a  profuse  perspiration. 


206  PANIC. 

"  We  got  through  that  well  !"  gasped  Cowran, 
endeavoring  to  straighten  out  his  head-gear. 
"  Now,  then,  up  we  go  ;  and  when  we  get  into  the 
gallery  don't  be  afraid  to  use  your  elbows  !" 

So  saying,  he  led  the  way  up  to  the  staircase, 
passed  a  door,  and,  closely  followed  by  the 
Captain,  emerged  into  a  balcony  or  gallery  that 
partly  surrounded  a  spacious  and  lofty  hall.  The 
gallery  was  filled  with  spectators ;  but  Cowran 
shouldered  them  aside  with  scant  ceremony,  and  at 
last  succeeded  in  wedging  himself  and  Hamilton 
into  a  position  immediately  in  contact  with  the 
railing.  From  there  they  looked  down  upon  the 
arena  beneath. 

Every  thing  that  they  had  seen  outside  dwindled 
into  insignificance  in  comparison  with  the  spectacle 
that  was  here  displayed.  Every  part  of  the  great 
hall  was  dense  with  human  bodies  packed  like 
nine-pins  in  a  box,  but  each  and  all  wriggling, 
twisting,  fighting,  raging,  flinging  their  arms  above 
their  heads,  diving,  plunging,  wrestling  ;  the  air 
was  tortured  with  yells,  screams,  shrieks,  howls  as 
of  mortal  agony,  desperate  cries,  and  appeals  as  of 
souls  in  torment  screeching  for  their  lives.  The 
crowd  was  like  one  vast  animal,  struggling  and 
crushing  itself  in  myriad-fold  fury,  and  quickening 
into  a  keener  agony  of  life  with  each  convulsion. 
At  certain  points  in  the  hall  this  seeming  blind  and 
maddened  frenzy  was  even  denser  and  wilder  than 
elsewhere,  though  that  would  appear  impossible  ; 
and  in  the  very  midst  and  red-hot  center  of  the 


PANIC.  207 

demoniac  ring — a  miracle  of  calm  in  the  acme  of 
tempest — would  stand  a  single  individual,  quiet, 
composed,  languid,  with  a  tablet  and  a  pencil,  jot 
ting  down  a  figure  or  a  word  with  lazy  indifference, 
or  glancing  out  upon  the  serried  ring  of  frantic 
madmen  with  meditative  eyes,  as  if  recalling  some 
half-forgotten  verse  of  poetry,  or  seeking  for  a  syl 
lable  to  polish  off  a  rhyme  of  his  own.  These  phil 
osophers  apeared  as  remote  from  all  participation 
in  the  deafening  dance  of  insanity  that  swept 
around  them  as  if  they  were  denizens  of  the 
planet  Neptune,  or,  like  the  enchanters  of  old,  had 
drawn  around  them  the  magic  circle,  across  which 
the  mob  of  hell  could  not  pass,  and,  standing  within 
which,  all  their  striving  and  uproar  were  invisible 
and  inaudible. 

There  were  several  of  these  whirlpools  on  the 
floor  of  the  great  hall  ;  but  gradually  one  of  them 
seemed  to  swallow  up  and  absorb  the  rest  ;  and 
upon  this  chief  center  all  the  rage  and  passion  of 
all  the  former  centers  were  concentrated  and  heaped 
up  and  welded  together,  until  it  seemed  as  if 
human  nature  and  strength  could  endure  no  more. 
If  the  universe  had  been  shattered  to  fragments, 
and  the  inhabitants  of  this  and  of  all  other  planets 
had  been  emptied  pell-mell  into  a  pit,  and  told  that 
they  were  doomed  to  eternal  torture  unless  they 
obtained  something  unobtainable  within  the  next 
thirty  seconds,  they  would  have  conducted  them 
selves  with  more  order  and  decorum.  The  whole 
essence  of  chaos  and  anarchy  seemed  to  pos^ 


208  PANIC. 

sess  each  individual  ;  and  yet,  wonderful  to  relate, 
each  individual  had  a  very  clear  idea  of  what  he 
was  doing,  and  of  what  he  had  done  and  was  likely 
to  do  ;  he  knew  just  what  was  going  on,  what  it  all 
meant,  at  what  point  it  might  be  expected  to 
change  ;  he  was  ready,  between  the  throbs  of  the 
delirium,  to  turn  aside  and  exchange  a  jest  and  a 
smile  with  an  acquaintance,  or  to  retire  to  a  corner 
and  have  a  little  quiet  conversation  with  a  business 
associate,  and  perhaps  give  or  receive  an  invitation 
to  discuss  a  bird  and  a  bottle  after  the  Exchange 
closed.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  he  would  leap  back 
into  the  ring,  and  be  instantly  transformed  into  a 
ferocious  and  chaotic  maniac. 

"  What  the  deuce  are  they  doing  ?  "  shrieked  the 
Captain  into  Cowran's  tympanum. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  the  other  replied.  "  Some 
body  is  running  up  Pacific  Mail,  and  it  has  risen 
nearly  thirty  points  in  two  hours.  It'll  turn  before 
long.  It  isn't  serious.  They're  just  having  a  little 
fun.  You  should  see  'em  when  they're  in  earnest." 

"  You're  not  concerned  in  it,  I  fancy  ?  "  said  the 
Captain. 

"  Me  ?  Not  much  !  It's  a  long  time  since  I've 
meddled  with  any  thing  of  that  kind.  Now-a-days, 
when  I  want  to  throw  away  money,  I  take  a  Jersey 
City  ferry-boat  and  drop  it  into  the  middle  of 
North  River.  It's  less  trouble." 

There  was  now  a  comparative  lull  for  a  few 
moments,  during  which  the  whirlpools  broke  up, 
and  there  was  an  extraordinary  running  to  and  fro 


PANIC.  209 

and  erratic  confusion,  as  if  the  moorings  of  all  na 
ture  had  broken  loose  and  each  fragment  was  hur 
rying  to  escape.  Presently,  with  a  roar  that  outdid 
all  previous  efforts,  the  vortices  began  to  form 
again,  and  the  bears  began  to  tear  down  what  the 
bulls  had  just  been  hoisting  up. 

"Come,"  said  Cowran,  after  a  while,  "we  have 
seen  about  all  there  is  to  be  seen  here  to-day.  They 
will  keep  this  up  for  another  hour  or  two,  and  then 
the  whole  thing  will  end  exactly  where  it  began.  A 
few  of  them  will  have  won,  and  the  rest  will  have 
lost ;  and  next  week  there  will  be  another  scrim 
mage  of  the  same  kind.  Have  you  had  enough  ? 
Then  come  along." 

They  made  their  way  out  to  the  street,  and 
thence  to  Broadway,  where  they  parted,  Cowran 
going  to  his  office,  and  the  Captain  proceeding  up 
town.  He  stopped  at  the  Astor  House,  however, 
and  there,  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  so,  he  was 
joined  by  a  slender  young  man  with  sharp  features, 
who  nodded  to  him  and  then  went  to  the  water- 
cooler  and  swallowed  a  couple  of  glasses  of  water. 

"  Hot  work  !  "  he  muttered,  as  he  dropped  into  a 
chair  beside  the  Captain.  "  I'd  rather  pitch  a  dozen 
championship  games  of  an  afternoon,  or  spend  the 
day  in  a  foot-ball  scrimmage  !  " 

"  Well,  how  did  it  work  ?  Have  you  caught 
him  ?  " 

"  Caught  him  ?  No  !  He  couldn't  have  been  in 
the  thing  at  all.  I  can't  understand  it.  Either 
something  has  happened  to  him,  or  he  got  wind  of 


210  PANIC. 

the   game,   and   made   up  his   mind   to   stay  out 

of  it." 

"  Then  we're  just  as  wise  as  we  were  before  ? " 
"  Say  a  bit  wiser  ;  for  we  know  now  that  we  know 

nothing  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ARREST. 

THE  stock  operation  above  alluded  to  took  place 
on  a  Friday.  On  the  following  Sunday,  Gen 
eral  Weymouth,  who  had  been  unusually  busy  dur 
ing  the  previous  week,  and  had  not  once  had  an 
opportunity  of  indulging  himself  with  his  violon 
cello,  dressed  himself  with  especial  care,  put  a  bun 
dle  of  documents  in  his  pocket,  and  walked  down 
Lexington  Avenue  to  Kitty  Clive's. 

Kitty  was  in,  and  was  writing  a  letter.  She 
slipped  it  into  an  envelope  as  he  entered. 

"  Whenever  you  come  I  feel  that  I  have  been 
wanting  to  see  you,"  she  said,  coming  forward  and 
giving  him  her  hand. 

"  Then  I  must  not  come  too  often,"  was  his 
reply. 

She  laughed.  "  Oh,  yes,  come  oftener.  For  it 
is  when  I  have  been  trying  to  be  good  that  I  most 
enjoy  having  you  here  ;  and  so,  the  more  you  are 
here,  the  better  I  shall  be  !  " 

"  That  is  rather  shaky  logic,  I'm  afraid,  my  dear 
young  lady  ;  and  yet,  any  logic  must  be  good  that 
affords  me  a  pretext  for  seeing  you.  But,  I  should 


212  ARREST. 

not  have  ventured  to  disturb  you  this  morning,  had 
I  not  depended  upon  my  errand  fer  my  apology. 
I  want  to  give  myself — that  is,  you — a  little 
pleasure." 

"  If  my  pleasure  is  yours,  General,  I  wish  I  were 
the  happiest  woman  alive  !  " 

"  There  is  no  reason  that  I  know  of  why  you 
should  not  be.  There  is  nothing  in  your  own 
nature  to  make  you  otherwise  ;  and  though  the 
world — your  personal  world — may  not  in  all 
respects  have  been  what  it  should  have  been  to  you 
hitherto,  yet  I  am  persuaded  that  this  defect  will 
sooner  or  later  be  amended.  Perhaps  quite  soon," 

he  added  ;  "  perhaps "  he  looked  at  her  closely, 

and  interpreted  some  sign  that  she  could  not 
wholly  disguise  in  her  face — "  perhaps  the  best 
that  we  hoped  for  is  in  sight  already  !  " 

She  met  his  eyes  a  moment,  was  about  to  speak, 
checked  herself  with  a  sigh,  and  looked  down. 

"  Do  not  think  I  want  to  pry  into  your  secrets," 
he  said  quietly;  "but  I  need  not  tell  you  how 
happy  I  should  be  to  see  you  have  what  you  wish- 
as  I  am  sure  you  must  and  will  have  it  before 
long." 

"  I  feel  that  you  are  the  truest  of  friends,"  she 
returned.  "But  at  present  I  can  only  say  this— 
that  the  means  of  the  happiness  you  refer  to  have 
been  put  within  my  reach.  And  yet  there  are  cir 
cumstances  that  prevent  my  accepting  it  ;  perhaps 
I  may  always  be  prevented." 

An    expression  of   contentment    lighted  up  the 


ARREST.  213 

general's   face,  which,  as    Kitty  now   noticed,  was 
thinner  and  paler  than  usual. 

"  Possibly,"  he  said,  "  my  errand  this  morning  may 
have  the  effect  of  removing  some  of  the  obstacles 
that  lie  in  your  way.  It  was  with  that  expectation 
that  I  came  here.  But  first  I  must  tell  you  about 
something,  quite  unlocked  for,  that  has  lately 
occurred  to  me.  You  perhaps  recollect  my  speak 
ing  to  you  the  other  day  of  a  man  whom  I  called 
Fowler  ?  " 

Kitty  moved  her  head  in  assent.  She  could  fore 
see,  of  course,  the  gist  of  what  the  General  was 
about  to  tell  her  ;  but  the  ambiguous  circumstances 
which  had  attended  the  last  act  of  Fowler  Morgan's 
life  made  her  unwilling  to  let  him  suspect  that  she 
knew  any  thing  about  the  matter. 

"  I  had  heard  nothing  about  him  for  several 
years,"  the  General  went  on  ;  "  and  so  far  as  I 
thought  of  him  at  all,  which  was  very  little,  I 
presumed  that  he  was  either  dead,  or  had  been 
overtaken  in  some  manner  by  the  just  reward  of 
his  iniquity.  It  is  only  within  the  last  few  days 
that  I  learned  any  thing  of  his  subsequent  history 
and  the  only  part  of  that  which  concerns  my  present 
purpose  in  coming  here,  is  that  he  has  just  died, 
leaving  behind  him  a  considerable  fortune. 

"  If  I  had  been  asked,"  the  General  continued, 
after  a  pause,  "  what  was  the  thing,  possible  to  be 
done,  which  that  man  would  be  least  likely  to  do, 
I  should  have  said  that  it  was  to  make  reparation 
in  any  respect  for  the  injury  that  he  had  done  me. 


214  ARREST. 

I  need  not  tell  you  that  the  worst  injury — the  only 
injury  that  touched  a  vital  part— could  never  be 
repaired  or  compensated  ;  he  could  never  give  me 
back  the  faith  and  peace  of  my  early  marriage. 
Nor  could  he  give  me  back  my  ruined  career,  and 
all  those  schemes  for  doing  good  in  the  world  for 
which  I  had  hoped  so  much  and  striven  so  hard. 
The  most  that  he  could  do  was  to  return  me  the 
money  which  he  had  extorted  from  me.  That 
money,  were  it  ten  times  as  much  as  it  is,  could 
have  little  value  for  me  personally  now  ;  I  could 
not  spend  it  on  myself,  and  I  am  too  old,  and  too 
long  accustomed  to  solitude  and  inaction,  to  think 
of  attempting  any  public  activity  again.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  he  no  doubt  imagined  that  the  loss 
of  the  money  was  what  I  chiefly  cared  for,  and 
that  in  giving  it  back  he  acquitted  himself  of  all 
his  obligations.  That  he  should  wait  to  make  the 
restitution  until  death  had  placed  him  where  money 
has  no  existence,  was  a  matter  of  course.  It  is 
surprising  enough,  as  I  said,  that  he  should  have 
made  it  even  then. 

"  Nevertheless,  that  is  what  has  happened.  I 
received  last  week  a  letter  from  a  firm  of  lawyers 
in  Boston,  informing  me  of  the  death  of  Fowler 
Morgan — such  was  the  man's  real  name — and  that 
his  will  bequeathed  to  me  his  entire  property,  with 
some  trifling  exceptions.  The  amount  is  large— 
vastly  larger  than  I  could  ever  use,  or  would  wish 
to  be  burdened  with.  But  for  a  single  consideration, 


ARREST.  215 

therefore,  I  should  regret  that  Fowler  Morgan's 
will  was  drawn  in  my  favor." 

He  paused,  and  turned  his  face  upon  Kitty 
with  a  sort  of  deprecating  expression,  as  if  ap 
pealing  to  her  in  advance  not  to  reject  the  proposi 
tion  he  was  about  to  offer.  It  was  not  difficult 
for  her  to  surmise  what  that  proposition  was 
to  be,  and  she  had  no  very  clear  idea  how  to 
meet  it. 

"I  have  here,"  said  the  General,  feeling  in  his 
pocket,  and  bringing  out  some  papers,  which  he 
laid  across  his  knee  while  putting  on  his  eye 
glasses,  "  one  or  two  documents  which  only  require 
your  approval  and  signature  to  become  valid.  As 
you  see,  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  have 
been  deposited  in  the  America  Bank,  subject  to 
your  order.  This  is  the  receipt ;  and  if,  at  any 
time  you  feel  inclined,  you  will  write  your  name 
on  that  paper,  and  send  it  to  the  bank,  you  will 
afterwards  be  able  to  draw  upon  the  sum  as  suits 
your  convenience.  You  see,  my  dear  Kitty, 
I  feel  a  fatherly  interest  in  you — being  without 
daughters  or  relatives  of  my  own — and  as  Christ 
mas  is  not  far  off  I  want  to  take  advantage  of  the 
season.  I  want  you  to  feel  that  by  indulging  me 
in  this  little  matter,  which  I  have  much  at  heart, 
you  will  be  relieving  me  of  a  disagreeable  responsi 
bility — a  regular  white  elephant — which,  but  for 
you,  would  rob  me  of  my  peace  and  comfort  for 
the  rest  of  my  days.  If  I  were  as  young  and 
vigorous  as  you,  I  should  think  twice,  I  dare  say, 


2i6  ARREST. 

before  doing  so  wise,  and,  after  all,sc  selfish  a  thing 
as  I  am  doing  now." 

"  You  give  me  all  this  money,  General  Wey- 
mouth ! "  exclaimed  Kitty,  whose  anticipations 
had  been  limited  to  less  than  a  tithe  of  this  sum, 
and  whose  perplexity  at  the  actual  denouement  was 
proportionately  increased.  "  I  can  not  take  it.  I 
have  no  need  of  such  a  gift ;  and  if  I  had,  my  need 
could  not  be  relieved  in  such  a  way." 

The  General's  hands  dropped  lifelessly  on  his 
knees,  and  a  look  of  heavy  and  bitter  disappoint 
ment  shadowed  his  face.  "Don't  say  that!"  he 
murmured  in  a  husky  tone.  "  Don't  say  you  won't 
take  any  thing  from  me  !  I  have  had  so  many  dis 
appointments,  my  dear  ;  and  I  am  an  old  man, 
now— more  than  old  enough  to  be  your  father. 
I  don't  see  how  I  could  bear  to  be  disappointed  in 
this.  Be  a  good,  kind  little  daughter,  now,  and  do 
me  this  one  favor  !  Surely  you  can  not  imagine 
that  I  would  ever  take  any  advantage — that  it 
would  be  putting  you  under  obligations — ' 

"  No,  no,  nothing  of  that  sort  is  in  my  mind," 
interrupted  she  passionately.  She  was  deeply 
moved,  and  did  not  seem  to  know  how  to  express 
herself.  "  I  know  what  you  are— there  could  be 
no  man  more  unselfish  and  single-hearted.  But  it 
is  because  I  do  know  it  that  I  can  tell  you,  with 
out  your  misunderstanding  me,  that  I  can  not  take 
your  money.  If— if  I. could  have  married  you, 
General  Weymouth— that  is  the  only  thing  that 
would  justify  me  in  my  own  eyes  in  accepting  it. 


ARREST.  217 

And  since,  if  I  ever  do  marry,  it  will  be  some  one 
else — how  could  I  go  to  him  with  the  feeling  that 
what  I  brought  him  was  due  to  the  love  which 
another  man  had  done  me  the  honor  to  bear  me  ? 
And  you  have  misunderstood  what  I  hinted  of  the 
obstacles  that  lay  between  him  and  me.  It  is  not 
that  there  would  not  be  money  enough.  I  make 
money  enough  for  both  of  us,  if  that  were  all ;  but 
he  too  is  going  to  work  ;  and  even  if  there  were  no 
hope  of  either  of  us  ever  becoming  comfortable  in  that 
way, -I  would  not  hesitate — it  would  be  a  delight  to 
live  poor  with  him,  and  be  a  mere  household  drudge, 
if  he  were  the  master  of  the  house  !  But  we  have 
already  all  that  we  need,  and  we  shall  have  more  ; 
and  it  is  not  that  that  made  me  silent  when  he 
asked  me  for  my  love  the  other  day.  Oh,  not 
that !  " 

"  I  can  not  understand,  then,"  said  the  General, 
with  a  slight  gesture  of  the  hand. 

"  I  can  not  tell  you,"  she  rejoined,  "  for  I  have 
not  yet  told  him  ;  only  I  will  say  this,  that  the 
reason  is  a  personal  one — it  relates  to  me,  to  what 
I  am,  to  my  life  and  character.  I  know,"  she  con 
tinued,  seeing  an  expression  of  indignant  incre 
dulity  appear  in  the  General's  face.  "  I  know  that 
such  words  are  capable  of  the  worst  interpretation. 
I  do  not  deny  or  affirm  any  thing  about  that — you 
must  judge  by  what  you  know  of  me — and  that  is 
very  little  !  For,  even  if  the  good  you  think  you 
see  in  me  were  all  there,  there  would  still  be  things 
that  you  have  never  seen — because  you  bring  only 


2i  ARREST. 

what  is  best  in  me  to  the  surface.  If  you  were  an 
enemy — if  you  had  wronged  me,*  or  injured  any 
one  I  loved — then  you  might  see  what  would  make 
you  shrink  and  stand  aloof  !  Do  you  think  I  would 
shrink  from  any  crime  if  the  man  I  loved — any  one 
that  was  dear  to  me — had  been  unjustly  treated  ? 
Why,  General  Weymouth,  in  such  a  cause  I  would 
do  murder  !  " 

The  old  man  sat  quiet  and  motionless  while  she 
spoke  thus  ;  and  after  she  had  ended  there  was  a 
silence,  disturbed  only  by  her  labored  breath,  as 
she  tried  to  choke  back  the  passion  and  the 
tears  that  were  rising  within  her.  But  at 
last  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  all  gen 
tleness  and  sympathy  :  "  My  child,  I  under 
stand  you  better  now,  and  I  thank  you  for  the 
new  depth  to  which  you  have  admitted  me. 
I  will  take  it  that  you  have  committed  some  sin  for 
the  sake  of  the  man  you  love,  and  that  you  now 
fear  that  the  consequences  of  it  may  separate  you. 
What  the  sin  may  be,  I  have  no  conception,  nor  is 
it  needful  that  I  should.  I  will  only  say  that,  if  I 
may  speak  so  far  of  a  man  I  have  never  seen,  I  do 
not  think  that  he  will  love  you  the  less  for  what 
you  have  done.  But  whether  or  not,  I  counsel  you 
most  earnestly  to  tell  him  all,  and  at  once  ;  and 
then,  so  far  as  may  be  possible,  undo  the  evil  you 
have  committed.  Few  women  have  ever  lived, 
Miss  Kitty,  who  had  such  a  heart  as  yours  ;  let  an 
old  fellow  entreat  you  to  subdue  its  fiercer  part  ; 
it  can  only  sap  the  life  of  the  diviner  side.  Do 


ARREST.  2I9 

not  worry  yourself  by  assuming  to  administer  God's 
justice.  The  best  result  that  can  ever  come  from 
doing  so  is  to  accept  the  warning  it  will  bring  you, 
never  to  assume  that  awful  function  again  !  " 

He  spoke  with  a  solemnity  and  earnestness  such 
as  she  had  never  heard  from  him  before  ;  and  the 
profound  and  unselfish  affection  that  enriched 
every  word  touched  and  softened  her,  so  that  she 
began  to  weep,  not  violently  but  quietly,  leaning 
her  head  against  the  cushion  of  the  sofa.  A  crisis 
seemed  to  have  passed  ;  and  the  old  general  was 
the  good  angel  who  had  helped  her  safely  through 
it. 

He  remained  meditatively  in  his  chair  for  a 
while,  as  if  reviewing  all  that  had  passed,  and  ask 
ing  himself  whether  there  were  any  thing  more  to 
do.  At  length  he  rose,  replaced  the  papers  in  his 
pocket,  and  took  up  his  hat  and  gloves. 

"As  regards  that  other  affair,  my  dear,"  he  said, 
"  I  will  not  urge  it  upon  you  at  present.  You  are 
the  best  judge  of  what  is  easy  and  graceful  for 
you,  and  I  certainly  can  claim  no  right  to  force 
upon  you  any  special  kind  or  condition  of  comfort, 
that  I  may  fancy  would  be  agreeable  to  me  in  your 
place.  But  after  your  marriage  I  shall,  I  hope,  see 
you  and  your  husband  occasionally  ;  and  perhaps, 
between  the  three  of  us,  we  may  contrive  some 
expedient  by  which  all  three  can  be  satisfied.  With 
such  a  good  and  sensible  fellow  as  I  am  sure  he  is 
that  can  not  be  impossible  or  even  difficult. 
Meanwhile  I  will  take  myself  off,  wishing  you  all 


220  ARRZST. 

the  happiness  in  the  world,  provided  it  be  of  the 
sort  that  you  happen  to  approve  of  L " 

She  answered  the  smile  with  Which  he  said  this, 
and  gave  him  her  hand  ;  but  then  said,  "  If  you 
will  wait  for  me  a  moment,  I  will  not  say  good-by 
to  you  here.  I  have  promised  to  sing  in  the 
church  at  the  corner  to-day,  and  it  is  time  I  was 
there.  I  will  not  keep  you  long." 

She  was  as  good  as  her  word,  and  came  out  of 
her  room  dressed  for  the  street  in  a  very  short 
time.  Before  they  went  out,  she  cast  a  glance 
round  the  sitting-room,  and  seeing  the  letter  she 
had  been  writing  lying  on  the  desk,  she  took 
it  up  and  put  it  in  her  muff.  They  went  down 
stairs  together  and  turned  up  the  street,  not 
noticing  Captain  Hamilton,  who  was  approaching 
from  the  opposite  direction.  He  followed  along 
about  fifty  yards  behind  them.  They  stopped  at 
the  door  of  the  church,  to  say  good-by  ;  and  Kitty, 
i  i  taking  her  hand  from  her  muff,  was  reminded 
of  her  letter. 

"  Let  me  post  it  for  you,"  said  the  General.  "I 
shall  be  sure  to  pass  a  letter-box  in  a  few  minutes." 
She  handed  him  the  letter,  which  he  put  in  the  side- 
pocket  of  his  overcoat,  and  they  parted.  She 
entered  the  church  ;  the  General  turned  towards 
Fifth  Avenue. 

The  noiseless  footsteps  of  fate  came  close  be 
hind  him.  At  the  junction  of  Twenty-second  Street 
with  Fifth  Avenue  was  a  letter-box  attached  to  a 
lamp-post  :  and  into  this  box  the  General  dropped 


ARREST.  221 

the  letter.  He  then  turned  up  the  Avenue,  and 
proceeded  northward.  Before  he  had  gone  a  dozen 
yards  two  men  overtook  him,  one  of  whom  placed 
a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and,  as  the  General  looked 
round  in  surprise,  said,  "  I  have  to  inform  you,  sir, 
that  you  are  in  custody.  You  must  go  with  us  to 
Inspector  Byrnes'  office." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

DISTRICT    E. 

IN  order  to  an  understanding  of  this  event,  we 
must  turn  backwards  a  day  or  two,  and  find  out 
what  Inspector  Byrnes  had  been  doing. 

The  chief  of  the  detectives  had  been  not  a  little 
piqued  by  the  failure  of  himself  and  his  subordinates 
to  solve  the  mystery  of  the  blackmailing  letter- 
writer  ;  and  he  determined  to  make  a  final  effort  to 
get  at  the  heart  of  the  problem.  All  the  ordinary 
methods  in  vogue  in  such  cases,  and  several  that 
were  not  ordinary,  had  been  tried  without  effect  ; 
and  the  artificial  panic  on  the  Exchange,  out  of 
which  so  much  had  been  hoped,  had  given  not  the 
slightest  clew  to  the  offender  ;  who  had,  apparently, 
— for  what  reason  it  was  impossible  to  conjecture 
— not  operated  on  that  occasion  at  all,  although,  had 
he  done  so,  he  might  have  made  a  very  large  sum 
of  money.  As  it  was,  several  outsiders  had  been 
enriched,  many  innocent  people  had  suffered  loss, 
and  nothing  whatever  had  come  of  it. 

"  This  will  never  do  !  "  said  the  Inspector  to 
himself,  as  he  paced  up  and  down  his  room,  at  an 
hour  when  most  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  city  had 


DISTRICT  E.  223 

closed  up  their  business  for  the  day  and  gone  home 
to  dinner  and  relaxation.  "  This  will  never  do  !  " 
he  repeated.  "  There  must  be  some  way  of  getting 
hold  of  that  fellow,  and  I  must  find  out  what  it  is. 
Come  !  common  sense  can  find  its  way  through  any 
thing  !  Where  is  the  weak  spot  in  that  fellow's 
armor  ?  He  has  written  over  twenty  letters  ;  isn't 
there,  a  single  clew  in  any  one  of  them  ?  or  in  all  of 
them  put  together  ?" 

He  took  half  a  dozen  more  turns  up  and  down, 
thinking  intently.  The  room  was  perfectly  quiet, 
and  the  Inspector's  footfall  on  the  soft  carpet  gave 
out  no  sound.  The  curtains  were  drawn  ;  the 
lights  burned  brightly  ;  the  glazed  cases  on  the  walls, 
full  of  the  relics  of  former  crimes,  reflected  in  dis 
torted  fragments  the  movements  of  the  detective 
as  he  paced  to  and  fro — five  paces  this  way,  a  turn, 
and  five  paces  back  again.  At  length  he  stopped, 
went  behind  the  table,  and  sat  down  in  his  chair. 

"  Let  us  see  !  "  he  muttered.  "  We  know  it  is  not 
Cowran  ;  we  know  it  is  not  Cunliffe  ;  and  no  one 
else  has  been  suggested.  We  have  tried  decoy 
advertisements,  and  they  have  only  served  to  induce 
the  fellow  to  continue  his  letters  ;  we  have  tried 
manipulating  the  stocks  in  which  he  was  interested  ; 
and  if  he  has  profited  by  the  information  given  him, 
he  has  left  no  trace  by  which  we  could  follow 
him.  We  have  offered  to  give  him  checks  or  money, 
and  he  has  refused  the  offer.  We  have  attempted 
to  lure  him  into  communicating  with  us  in  some 
other  way  than  by  advertisements,  and  he  has 


224  DISTRICT  E. 

declined  the  proposition.  What  else  is  there  to  be 
done?  One  might,  by  accident,  happen  to  see  him 
in  the  act  of  posting  one  of  his  letters  ;  only,  one 
would  have  to  have  a  quick  eye  to  read  the  address 
while  the  letter  was  being  popped  into  the  box  : 
and  if  one  were  near  enough  to  do  it,  the  fellow 
would  probably  either  not  post  it  at  all,  or  else  do 
it  in  such  a  way  that  the  address  would  be  invisible. 
Besides,  there  are  two  or  three  thousand  letter-boxes 
in  the  city, — no,  that  is  impracticable.  And,  even 
if  a  man  were  seen  to  post  a  letter  addressed  to 
Maxwell  Golding,  that  would  not  justify  his  arrest. 
Mr.  Golding  has  more  correspondents  than  one,  or 
than  one  hundred.  To  be  sure,  if  the  address  were 
in  the  handwriting  of  the  blackmail  letters,  that 
would  be  another  matter  !  And  if — ah  !  if  !  " 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  folded  his  arms,  and 
closed  his  eyes.  A  person  entering  the  room  might 
have  imagined  the  Inspector  to  be  asleep.  But  he 
was  very  far  from  that. 

His  thoughts  ran  as  follows  : — "  If  the  fellow  is, 
as  he  appears  to  be,  a  resident  of  the  city,  and  ac 
customed  to  observe  a  certain  routine  in  his  life, 
then  it  is  probable  that  he  would  not  go  out  of  a  cer 
tain  definite  region  ;  say,  a  region  bounded  by 
Sixth  Avenue  on  the  west,  Third  Avenue  on  the 
east,  north  by  Forty-second  Street,  and  south  by 
Wall  Street.  That  is  giving  him  a  large  range  ; 
there  are  thousands  of  business  and  club  men  who 
are  hardly  ever  met  with  off  Fifth  Avenue  or  Broad 
way.  Thus,  all  the  space  between,  say,  Fourteenth 


DISTRICT  E  225 

Street  and  City  Hall  may  be  stricken  out,  for  he 
will  pass  over  that  in  the  cars.  During  business 
hours  he  would  be  below  City  Hall,  and  at  other 
times  above  Fourteenth  Street.  But  he  would  not 
be  likely  to  write  his  blackmailing  letters  at  his 
club,  or  at  his  place  of  business.  No  ;  he  would 
do  that  at  home.  Well,  his  house  may  be  any 
where.  But  I  take  it  that  he  is  an  unmarried  man, 
and  therefore  would  live  in  lodgings  or  in  a  board 
ing  house  in  a  good  quarter  of  the  town  ;  some 
where  above  Thirtieth  and  below  Forty-second  ; 
not  further  west  than  Sixth  or  Seventh  avenue,  and 
— well — probably  not  east  at  all.  Somewhere  in 
that  region  the  letters  are  written — and  somewhere 
in  that  region  they  are  posted,  for  he  would  not 
carry  them  about  with  him  any  longer  than  was 
necessary.  In  fact,  it  is  quite  likely  that  he  may 
have  posted  every  one  of  the  letters  in  the  same 
box  !  But  the  stamp  shows  only  the  district,  not 
the  box.  Still,  it  would  be  something  to  know 
that  they  were  all  posted  in  the  same  district  ;  and 
that  I  can  find  out  right  here  !  Why  didn't  I 
think  of  it  before  ?  " 

At  this  point  the  Inspector  opened  his  eyes, 
which  had  a  new  sparkle  of  expectancy  in  them,  and 
pulled  out  a  small  private  drawer  in  the  recesses 
of  the  desk,  which  contained  a  score  or  more  of 
letters  in  their  envelopes.  They  were  the 
entire  correspondence  of  the  anonymous  black 
mailer,  up  to  date.  They  were  all  ad 
dressed  to  Maxwell  Golding,  in  a  scrawling,  irreg- 


226  DISTRICT  £. 

ular  hand,  evidently  disguised,  but  as  evidently  by 
the  same  writer  in  every  case.  Each  envelope 
bore  the  stamp  of  the  district  office  at  which  it  was 
received.  The  Inspector  examined  these  stamps 
one  after  another.  The  first  was  "  E,"  so  was  the 
second.  So  likewise  was  the  third.  The  fourth 
was  "  E  "  again,  and  the  fifth  and  the  sixth. 
"  Why,  upon  my  word,"  explained  the  Inspector, 
after  a  moment,  "  they  are  nearly  all  '  E  '  !  "  So 
far,  at  any  rate,  I  don't  seem  to  be  much  astray. 
Now  let  us  see  whereabouts  '  E  '  is  !  " 

From  another  drawer  in  the  table  he  got  out  a 
large  map  of  New  York  city,  with  the  districts 
marked  upon  it.  A  brief  inspection  revealed  the 
fact  that  district  <  E  '  comprises  that  portion  of  the 
city's  area  which  is  bounded  on  the  north  by 
Forty-third  Street,  on  the  south  by  Twenty-first 
street,  east  by  Fifth  Avenue,  and  west  by  the  North 
River. 

"  That  is  a  tolerably  large  territory,"  said  the  In 
spector  to  himself,  "  but  at  any  rate  it  comprises  the 
place  where  I  supposed  my  man  to  be  living.  Now, 
how  am  I  to  find  out  which  particular  letter-box 
he  uses  ?  It  can  not  be  done.  However,  he  evi 
dently  uses  some  one  of  the  boxes  in  that  district. 
How  many  are  there  ?  " 

A  postal  directory  was  lying  on  the  table  :  and 
a  consultation  of  it  showed  that  district  '  E  '  con 
tained  just  118  letter  boxes. 

"  One  hundred  and  eighteen  is  a  good  many," 
the  Inspector  mused,  "but  it  is  much  more  easily 


DISTRICT  E.  227 

managed  than  two  or  three  thousand.  If  I  could 
set  a  watch  on  every  one  of  those  boxes,  something 
might  come  of  it.  But  there  are  not  so  many  de 
tectives  in  the  office.  No  ;  but  perhaps  the  post- 
office  authorities  could  be  induced  to  send  me  fifty 
or  sixty  men  to  help  me  out.  Well,  but  they  could 
be  spared  for  only  one  day  at  most ;  and  how  do  I 
know  that  the  blackmailer  would  post  a  letter  on  that 
day  ?  Pshaw  !  that  is  easy  enough  !  Insert  an 
urgent  '  personal  '  in  the  paper  that  would  require 
an  immediate  reply  from  him  ;  set  the  watch  on 
that  day,  and  catch  him  !  Yes  ;  but  suppose  I 
have  a  man  at  every  box,  near  enough  to  see  the 
address  of  the  letter  as  it  goes  in,  is  it  not  as  good 
as  certain  that  the  fellow  will  notice  it  and  take  the 
alarm  ?  On  the  other  hand,  if  they  are  stationed 
at  a  distance,  how  are  they  to  know  what  the  ad 
dress  is  ?  That  is  an  obstacle  !  Let  us  see  if 
there  is  no  way  around  it." 

He  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand  and  pondered 
earnestly  for  over  a  minute. 

"I  have  it!"  he  suddenly  exclaimed;  "the 
thing  is  as  simple  as  possible  !  let  each  of  the  men 
have  a  key,  and  take  up  his  position  half-a-dozen 
yards  away  from  the  box  to  which  he  is  assigned. 
As  soon  as  any  one  posts  a  letter,  and  starts  to  go 
away,  the  watcher  comes  forward  and  opens  the 
box.  If  the  letter  just  dropped  in  is  to  Golding, 
arrest  the  man  !  Is  there  any  thing  wrong  with 
that  ?  " 

Again  he  meditated  intently  :  and  an  expression  of 


228  DISTRICT  E. 

chagrin  overspread  his  features.  "  There  is  a  diffi 
culty,"  he  muttered,  "  and  though  itseems  a  trifling 
one,  it  is  enough  to  upset  the  whole  scheme.  If 
the  first,  or  second,  or  third  letter  posted  in  the 
box  should  be  to  Golding,  it  would  be  all  right. 
But  it  is  more  likely  to  be  the  fiftieth  or  sixtieth. 
In  that  case,  when  the  box  is  opened,  the  watcher 
will  have  to  look  through  the  whole  pile  of  letters  to 
discover  whether  the  one  he  wants  is  among  them  : 
and  by  the  time  he  has  done  that,  the  blackmailer 
will  be  half-a-dozen  blocks  away.  That  must  be 
remedied — but  how  ?  If  only  the  letters  already 
posted  could  in  some  way  be  separated  from  the 
one  posted  last.  To  be  sure,  each  letter  might  be 
taken  out  as  it  was  posted,  and  kept  out.  But  that 
would  hardly  do  ;  it  would  involve  letting  all  the 
carriers  into  the  scheme.  No — we  must  think  of 
something  else.  How  to  distinguish  at  a  glance 
the  last  letter  posted  from  the  others  ?  There  must 
be  a  method,  if  I  could  but  hit  upon  it.  The  other 
letters  must  be  in  a  heap  by  themselves,  and  the  last 
one — Ah!  I  see  it  now!  and  that  concludes  the  whole 
matter.  Here  is  the  solution,"  and  the  Inspector 
took  up  an  ordinary  india-rubber  band,  such  as 
everyone  uses  in  making  up  packets  of  papers.  "  Let 
one  of  them  be  slipped  round  the  letters  as  fast  as 
they  are  examined.  Thus,  every  time  the  box  is 
opened,  there  will  always  be  a  bundle  of  letters  and  a 
loose  letter.  The  loose  letter  will  be  the  one  last  put 
in,  and  the  watchers  can  see  at  a  glance  whether  it  is 
addressed  to  Maxwell  Golding.  Yes,  that  settles 


DISTRICT  E  229 

it.  The  thing  can  be  done,  and  it  shall  be  done 
without  the  loss  of  a  day.  I  will  make  my  applica 
tion  to  the  post-office  at  once,  and  on  Sunday, 
which  is  somewhat  of  an  off-day  for  the  men,  we 
will  put  the  scheme  to  the  test.  So  now  to  work  !  " 

Summoning  an  assistant,  Inspector  Byrnes's 
first  act  was  to  cause  a  diagram  or  map  of  District 
E  to  be  prepared,  with  every  letter-box  marked  in 
red  on  its  proper  site.  It  then  appeared  that 
several  of  the  boxes  were  so  situated  that  one 
watcher  could  attend  to  two  of  them,  and  thus  less 
than  a  hundred  men  in  all  would  be  required. 

A  "personal"  was  then  despatched  to  the  paper, 
upbraiding  the  blackmailer  with  having  given 
away  to  others  the  'secret  information  regarding 
the  variations  in  stocks  which  had  been  in 
tended  for  him  alone.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  there 
was  no  reason  to  suppose  that  he  had  done  any 
thing  of  the  kind  ;  but,  whether  he  had  or  not,  he 
would  be  certain  to  lose  no  time  in  repudiating 
the  charge,  and  thus  the  success  of  the  scheme  on 
the  particular  day  selected  would  be  ensured. 

The  next  morning  application  was  made  to  the 
post-office  authorities  for  permission  to  employ  in 
the  work  as  many  of  their  men  as  could  be  spared, 
the  Detective  Bureau  paying  all  expenses.  With 
some  difficulty,  this  permission  was  obtained  for  a 
detail  of  fifty  men.  As  many  more  of  the  detective 
staff  were  selected  ;  and  at  six  o'clock  on  the  Sunday 
morning  the  whole  squad  of  one  hundred  were  ad 
mitted  to  the  Inspector's  room  He  addressed  them, 


23°  DISTRICT  E. 

carefully  explaining  to  them  every  circumstance 
of  the  plan,  and  assigning  to  each  the  letter-box 
which  he  was  to  watch.  It  was  arranged  that  when 
the  fatal  letter  was  posted,  the  man  who  discovered 
should  make  a  signal  by  raising  his  hat,  upon 
which  the  detective  in  attendance  should  proceed 
to  arrest  the  person  who  had  posted  it. 

Everything  having  now  been  prepared,  so  far  as 
human  ingenuity  could  prepare  it,  the  men  were 
despatched  to  their  posts,  and  the  watch  began. 

The  Inspector  sat  in  his  office  and  waited.  Out 
wardly,  he  appeared  in  his  calmest  and  sunniest 
humor;  but  we  may  be  permitted  to  surmise  that, 
had  his  mind  been  visible  through  his  face,  a  cer 
tain  amount  of  suspense  and  anxiety  would  have 
been  observable.  In  truth,  there  was  a  great  deal 
at  stake,  not  least  among  which  was  the  Inspector's 
confidence  in  his  own  abilities.  If  he  were  to  fail 
now,  he  must  acknowledge  himself  beaten  ;  and  to 
be  beaten  was  something  to  which  the  Inspector  had 
never  had  an  opportunity  to  become  accustomed. 
Was  his  Waterloo  to  come  to-day  ?  lie  lit  a  cigar 
and  breathed  a  modest  hope  that,  if  it  turned  out  a 
Waterloo  indeed,  he  would  be  found  to  have  acted 
the  part  of  a  Wellington  rather  than  of  a  Napoleon. 

The  Inspector  smoked  several  cigars. 

As  he  was  in  the  act  of  lighting  a  fresh  one,  there 
was  a  loud  knock  at  the  door,  and  two  officers 
entered,  leading  between  them  an  elderly,  dignified 
man,  with  dark  eyes  and  an  iron-gray  mustache. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

KITTY    CLIVE. 

THE  Inspector  took  his  cigar  from  his  mouth, 
straightened  himself  in  his  chair,  and  bent  a 
quiet  and  impassive  look  upon  his  visitor.  There 
was  no  sign  of  triumph  in  his  gaze,  not  even  any 
betrayal  of  unusual  interest.  And  yet  here  was 
the  man  whom  he  had  been  pursuing  with  all  the 
means  and  intelligence  at  his  command  for  weeks, 
and  whom  he  had  captured  just  at  the  moment 
when  pursuit  seemed  hopeless.  And  so  this  noble- 
appearing  gentleman  was  the  author  of  those  out 
rageous  letters,  —  a  blackmailer,  —  an  anonymous 
threatener.  Never  did  appearances  so  belie  char 
acter. 

There  was  something  familiar  in  the  prisoner's 
appearance,  which  puzzled  the  Inspector  for  a 
moment,  and  sent  him  hunting  among  the  archives 
of  his  memory.  Where  had  he  seen  the  man  before  ? 
Ah  !  he  remembered  now.  It  was  this  man  who 
had  stopped  him  on  Fifth  Avenue  and  asked  him 
for  a  light  for  his  cigar,  on  the  evening  when  the 
Inspector  was  on  his  way  to  hear  from  Mr.  Owens 
the  first  news  of  the  crime. 

After  putting   a   few   routine  questions  to  the 


232  KITTY  CL1VE. 

detectives,  who  testified  that  they  had  arrested  the 
prisoner  in  the  act  of  posting  a  letter  to  Mr.  Gold- 
ing,  which  letter  they  produced,  the  Inspector 
made  them  a  sign  to  retire;  and,  having  dispatched 
a  messenger  to  request  the  attendance  of  Mr.  Gold- 
ing  and  Mr.  Owens,  he  turned  to  his  prisoner,  and 
asked  him  his  name. 

"  My  name  is  Weymouth,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  a 
retired  army  officer.  I  do  not  yet  know  why  I  have 
been  brought  here." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  my  beating  about  the  bush 
with  you,  General  Weymouth,"  replied  the  Inspec 
tor,  gravely.  "  If  the  evidence  against  you  were  not 
complete,  it  might  be  necessary  to  induce  you  to 
commit  yourself.  You  posted  this  letter  to  Mr. 
Golding  this  morning  ?  " 

"  I  did  ;  but  I  was  not  aware  that  it  was  ad 
dressed  to  " he  got  thus  far  and  then  stopped. 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  it  is  illegal  to  write  to  Mr. 
Golding,"  he  said  after  a  moment  ;  "nor  do  you 
know  the  contents  of  that  envelope." 

'*  The  contents  of  this  particular  envelope  are 
immaterial.  But  that  letter  is  the  last  of  a  series 
which  you  have  addressed  to  Mr.  Golding  during 
the  past  four  or  five  weeks."  As  he  spoke  he  took 
the  letters  in  question  from  a  drawer  and  spread 
them  on  the  table.  The  prisoner  glanced  at  them 
and  then  at  the  Inspector.  He  seemed  slightly  per 
plexed,  but  betrayed  no  sign  of  guilty  consterna 
tion. 

"As  you  see,"  continued  the  detective,   "this 


KITTY  CLIVE.  233 

letter,  which  you  admit  having  posted,  is  in  the 
same  handwriting  as  the  others." 

"  So  it  appears,"  returned  the  other,  composedly. 
"  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  however,  I  never  until 
this  moment  saw  or  knew  any  thing  about  any  of 
those  letters  except  the  last." 

"  You  did  not  write  them  yourself  ?  " 
"  I  did  not ;  nor  do  I  know  a  word  that  is  in  any 
of  them." 

"  Not  even  in  the  last  ? " 
"  Not  even  in  that." 

"  As  regards  the  last,  we  shall  learn  its  contents 
when  Mr.  Golding  arrives  here  and  opens  it.  The 
others,  as  you  know,  General  Weymouth,  are  a  se 
ries  of  blackmailing  communications  of  the  worst 
character,  demanding  money  from  Mr.  Golding 
under  threats  of  murder.  It  is  not  in  my  power, 
nor  is  it  my  purpose,  to  save  you  from  any  part  of 
the  penalty  appointed  for  the  crime  which  you  have 
committed.  But  I  need  not  say  that  I  have  no  per 
sonal  animosity  in  this  case  ;  and  I  see  that  you 
are  a  gentleman  by  position  and  education,  what 
ever  you  may  be  otherwise.  And  I  will  tell  you 
that  if  you  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  affair  you 
will  spare  yourself  some  unpleasant  formalities.  If 
you  refuse  (as  of  course  you  have  a  perfect  right  to 
do),  you  must  be  searched  and  in  all  respects 
treated  as  an  ordinary  malefactor." 

To  the  latter  part  of  this  speech  the  prisoner  did 
not  seem  to  have  paid  any  attention.  At  the  word 
"  blackmailing  "  he  had  given  a  start,  and  a  great 


234  KITTY  CLIVE. 

and  painful  change  had  come  over  his  countenance, 
as  if  he  had  heard  of  the  death  or  destruction  of  all 
that  was  dearest  to  him.  From  that  moment  he 
remained  staring  at  the  letters  on  the  table  with  a 
sort  of  bewildered  consternation.  After  the  In 
spector  ceased  speaking  there  was  a  silence. 

"  What  is  your  decision  ?  "  the  latter  inquired  at 
length. 

The  other  drew  a  long  breath,  and  steadied  him 
self  by  a  manifest  effort.  He  raised  his  head  and 
looked  the  detective  in  the  face.  He  opened  his 
lips  to  speak,  but  it  was  only  after  several  attempts 
that  his  voice  became  audible. 

"  I — submit — to  the — logic  of  circumstances," 
he  said,  with  a  labored  utterance.  "  I  have — no 
defense  to  make."  He  swayed  on  his  feet  as  he 
spoke,  and  grasped  at  a  chair  to  sustain  himself. 

"  Sit  down,"  the  Inspector  said.  '*  You  have 
decided  wisely,  and  you  will  at  least  lose  nothing 
by  it.  I  will  write  out  the  memoranda." 

The  General  sank  into  a  chair,  breathing  pain 
fully,  and  the  Inspector  took  pen  and  paper  and 
began  to  write.  While  he  was  in  the  midst  of  this 
employment  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door  and 
Mr.  Golding  was  admitted,  followed  by  Courtlandt 
Owens. 

The  great  financier  of  his  time  was  at  this  period 
but  little  past  the  prime  of  life,  and  seemed 
likely  to  more  than  outlast  the  allotted  span  of 
human  existence.  His  face  was  colorless,  but  the 
flesh  was  firm  and  healthy  ;  there  were  no  gray 


KITTY   CLIVE.  235 

threads  in  his  thick  black  hair  ;  and  his  blue  eyes, 
deep-set,  were  as  bright  and  clear  as  the  eyes  of 
youth.  His  figure,  rather  under  the  middle 
height,  but  noticeably  broad  in  the  shoulders,  was 
compact  and  upright  ;  his  hands,  with  their  long, 
square-topped  fingers,  were  characteristic  of  the 
strength  of  his  nature,  his  patience,  his  pertinacity, 
and  his  wonderful  organizing  power.  He  was 
simply  dressed  in  a  gray  frock  coat,  buttoned  across 
his  chest,  and  a  dark  overcoat  ;  and  the  hat  which 
he  removed  on  entering  was  a  little  the  worse  for 
wear. 

He  bowed  to  the  Inspector,  and  then  nodded 
familiarly  to  General  Weymouth.  "  I  have  come," 
he  said,  in  a  deep,  low  voice,  "  in  answer  to  your 
message  stating  that  this  blackmailer  had  been  ar 
rested.  Is  he  in  the  building  ?" 

"  He  is  here,  Mr.  Golding,"  replied  the  detec 
tive,  with  a  movement  of  the  head  towards  the 
silent  figure  in  the  chair. 

"  I  see  no  one,"  said  Golding,  with  a  glance 
around  the  room,— « except  my  friend  General 
Weymouth,"  he  added,  with  a  smile. 

The  Inspector  was  silent.  After  a  moment, 
Gelding's  expression  changed.  His  face  became 
as  hard  and  inscrutable  as  a  mask  of  stone. 

"Do  I  understand  that  General  Weymouth  is  the 
author  of  those  letters  ?  "  he  demanded  sharply. 

"  He  was  arrested  in  the  act  of  mailing  the  last 
one,  and  he  does  not  deny  his  guilt,"  was  the 
answer. 


236  KITTY  CLIVE, 

Golding  turned  to  the  General.  "  How  is  this, 
Weymouth  ?  "  he  said. 

The  old  man  fixed  his  dark  eyes  upon  the  finan 
cier.  "  I  have  nothing  to  say,"  he  remarked,  after 
a  short  pause.  "  The  Inspector  has  spoken  for 
me." 

Golding  pressed  his  lips  together,  and  a  gloomy 
expression  darkened  over  his  features.  "  I  was  not 
expecting  this,"  he  said  at  length.  "  General  Wey 
mouth  called  on  me  a  month  or  two  ago — I  knew 
him  well  formerly — and  asked  me  to  find  him  some 
salaried  position.  I  told  him  I  could  not  do  it  ; 
but  I  offered  him  a  considerable  sum  of  money 
from  my  private  purse  to  serve  as  his  support.  Is 
that  not  so,  Weymouth  ?  " 

"  You  offered  me  a  hundred  thousand  dollars," 
the  latter  replied,  "  and  I  refused  it." 

"  That  being  the  case,"  Golding  continued,  "  I 
don't  understand  why  you  should  afterwards  try  to 
extort  money  from  me  by  illegal  means.  Why 
was  it  ?" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say,"  repeated  the  other. 

Here  Owens  approached  the  Inspector  and 
asked  in  a  low  voice,  "  Has  any  incriminating 
evidence  been  found  upon  him  ?  " 

"  The  examination  has  not  yet  been  made  ;  I 
wished  Mr.  Golding  to  see  him  first."  He  turned 
to  the  General  and  said,  "  You  are  required  by  law 
to  show  any  papers  or  other  articles  in  your  pos 
session." 

This    announcement  evidently  disconcerted  the 


KITTY  CLIVE.  237 

prisoner.  "  There  is  nothing  in  my  possession,"  he 
said,  in  an  agitated  tone,  "that  has  any  bearing  on 
this  case.  I  do  not  deny  that  I  have  committed 
the  crime  charged.  I  entreat  that  my  papers— that 
I  be  not  subjected  to  an  examination.  Golding, 
I  beg  you  will  not  ask  it.  "  Does  not  my  admission 
satisfy  you  ?  " 

"  I  can  not  interfere  with  the  course  of  the  law," 
Golding  replied  coldly.'  "If  your  papers  are  not 
incriminating,  you  can  have  no  reason  for  not 
showing  them." 

"  I  entreat  you  not  to  ask  it,"  the  old  man  re 
peated. 

"  Mr.  Golding  has  no  voice  in  the  matter,"  the 
Inspector  interposed.  "  I  request  you  to  show  me 
your  papers.  Do  not  force  me  to  demand  them." 
The  General  put  his  hand  in  the  inside  pocket  of 
his  coat  and  brought  out  some  documents,  which 
he  laid  on  the  table.  "  Take  them,  if  it  is  your 
duty,"  he  said.  "  I  have  done  what  I  could."  He 
then  folded  his  arms,  bent  his  head  upon  his 
breast,  and  seemed  to  sink  into  a  state  of  semi- 
lethargy. 

The  Inspector  opened  the  documents  and  ex- 
amined  them.  Presently  he  looked  up  and  signed 
to  Golding  and  Owens  to  approach. 

:<  These  appear  to  be  vouchers  and  receipts  for 
the  sum  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars, 
held  on  deposit  in  The  America  Bank,  subject  to 
the  order  of  one  Kitty  Clive,"  he  said.  "  The  de 
posit  was  made  yesterday,  by  General  Weymouth, 


*3  KITTY   CLIVE. 

and  the  signature  of  Kitty  dive  is  all  that  is 
needed  to  complete  the  transaction.*  Is  the  person 
of  that  name  known  to  either  of  you  ?  " 

Golding  shook  his  head.  But  Owens  said,  "  I 
think  there  is  a  singer  of  that  name  ;  I  am  under 
the  impression  that  I  have  heard  her  in  concert." 

"  The  most  obvious  interpretation  of  the  matter 
is,"  observed  the  detective,  "  that  she  is  well  known 
to  General  Weymouth,  and  that  he  has  deeded 
this  money  to  her,  either  as  a  bjnd  fide  gift  or  as  a 
measure  of  security  for  himself.  We  do  not  know 
where  the  money  came  from  ;  but  it  is  at  least  pos 
sible  that  it  is  the  outcome  of  the  stock  operations 
which  you  have  enabled  the  writer  of  those  letters 
to  make." 

"  I  hardly  think  they  can  have  been  so  exten 
sive,"  Golding  said. 

"  What  we  must  do,"  continued  the  other,  "  is 
to  find  this  Kitty  Clive  at  once  and  question  her. 
She  may  be  able  to  throw  an  important  light  on 
the  matter.  For  I  must  confess,"  he  added  in  a 
lower  tone,  "  that  in  spite  of  appearances,  I  think 
there  is  a  good  deal  behind  this  affair.  The  pris 
oner's  behavior  and  circumstances  are  hardly  con 
sistent  with  the  facts  as  indicated  by  the  evidence. 
I  will  send  for  this  woman  immediately." 

He  touched  a  bell  ;  but  at  the  same  moment  the 
door  opened,  and  Captain  Hamilton  entered,  ac 
companied  by  a  lady  with  a  veil  over  her  face.  Of 
her  own  accord  she  removed  this  veil,  revealing  a 
plain  but  striking  countenance,  with  gray  eyes  full 


KITTY  CLIVE.  239 

of  passion  and  resolution.  As  for  the  Captain,  he 
wore  a  curiously  dejected  look,  as  of  a  man  who 
has  sacrificed  something  dear  to  him  on  the  altar 
of  abstract  duty. 

"  Inspector,"  he  said  at  once,  before  anyone  else 
could  speak.  "  I  have  important  evidence  to  give 
in  the  matter  which  is  now  before  you.  Upwards 
of  a  week  ago,  I  was  in  the  house  occupied  by  this 
lady,  Miss  Kitty  Clive,  on  Lexington  Avenue, 
where  I  saw  on  a  blotting-pad  on  the  table  the 
name  of  Maxwell  Goiding  reversed,  as  if  printed 
off  from  the  wet  writing  ;  and  as  near  as  I'could 
judge,  it  was  in  the  handwriting  used  in  the  black 
mailing  letters.  I  knew  that  Miss  Clive  was  on 
terms  of  friendship  with  Frank  Cunliffe,  who  was 
at  that  time  suspected  of  being  the  author  of  the  let 
ters;  I  conjectured  that  he  had  written  one  of  those 
letters  in  Miss  Clive's  house — as  I  presumed,  with 
out  her  knowledge  or  connivance.  Subsequently 
it  appeared  that  Mr.  Cunliffe  was  probably  not  the 
author  of  the  letters  ;  but  the  testimony  of  the  blot 
ting  book  remained  and  gave  me  much  trouble  : 
for  I  could  not  think  that  Miss  Clive  was  the 
guilty  person.  But  I  resolved  to  settle  my  doubts 
as  to  that,  and  with  that  view  I  went  to  Miss  Clive's 
house  this  morning.  As  I  approached  it,  she  came 
out  of  the  door,  accompanied  by  the  prisoner, 
General  Weymouth.  They  did  not  see  me,  but 
walked  on  to  the  church  at  the  corner.  Miss  Clive 
went  into  the  church,  but  first  she  took  out  of  her 
muff  a  sealed  letter,  which  she  gave  to  the  General, 


240  KITTY  CLIVR. 

apparently  requesting  him  to  post  it  for  her.  He  took 
the  letter  and  walked  across  town  to, Fifth  Avenue, 
then  up  to  the  corner  of  Twenty-second  Street, 
where  he  seemed  to  recollect  the  letter,  took  it 
from  his  pocket,  and  slipped  it  into  the  letter-box 
on  the  lamp-post  there.  I  had  him  in  view  all  this 
time,  and  did  not  see  him  once  look  at  the  address 
on  the  letter.  Immediately  after  he  had  posted  it  the 
box  was  opened  by  the  person  appointed  for  that 
duty,  who  took  out  the  letter,  and  after  reading  the 
address,  raised  his  hat,  upon  which  two  detectives 
arrested  the  prisoner.  But  in  consequence  of  what 
I  had  seen,  I  returned  to  the  church  on  Lexington 
Avenue,  where  Miss  Clive  was  singing  in  the  choir, 
obtained  an  interview  with  her,  and  informed  her 
that  she  was  under  arrest.  When  learning  the 
facts  that  I  have  stated,  she  at  once  agreed  to 
accompany  me  here.  I  now  have  the  honor  to 
hand  her  over  to  you  as  my  prisoner,  on  the  charge 
of  writing  the  blackmailing  letters  which  Mr.  Gold- 
ing  has  received." 

This  statement,  which  was  made  in  a  rapid  and 
mechanical  tone,  but  with  perfect  distinctness,  pro 
duced  a  sensation.  The  new  prisoner  alone  ap 
peared  unmoved.  She  had  stood  looking  alter 
nately  at  the  Inspector  and  at  Mr.  Golding,  but 
had  avoided  turning  her  eyes  upon  the  General. 

"  Do  you  admit  the  truth  of  Mr.  Hamilton's  state 
ment  ?"  asked  the  Inspector. 

"  I  do,"  she  replied. 

"  Do  you  claim  the  authorship  of  the  letters  ? 


KITTY  CLIVE.  241 

"  I  wrote  them  all,"  was  her  answer.  "  You  will 
find  evidence  enough  of  it  in  my  house  ;  mean 
while,  here  is  the  key  of  the  cipher  which  was  used 
in  the  correspondence."  She  took  a  slip  of  paper 
from  her  pocket-book,  which  she  handed  to  the  In 
spector,  who  looked  at  it,  and  passed  it  to  Mr. 
Golding. 

"  What  induced  you  to  write  the  letters  ?"  the  de 
tective  demanded. 

"  My  reasons  are  given  in  the  letter  posted  this 
morning,"  was  the  reply. 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Golding,"  said  the  Inspector, 
"  that  letter  has  not  been  opened  yet.  Will  you 
look  at  it?"  and  he  handed  it  to  him. 

Golding  tore  open  the  envelope,  and  read  as 
follows  : — 

"  Sir— This  is  the  last  letter  you  will  receive 
from  me.  The  money  which  I  have  obtained  through 
your  means  was  intended,  not  for  myself,  but  for  a 
dear  friend  of  mine,  whom  you  have  ruined.  I 
thought  you  ought  to  be  punished  and  to  make 
restitution  ;  if  you  had  refused  me  information,  I 
would  have  shot  you.  When  I  had  collected  the 
twenty  thousand  dollars  which  my  friend  lost,  I 
meant  to  give  them-  to  him  as  the  proceeds  of  my 
legitimate  speculation,  never  letting  him  know  the 
truth.  But  circumstances  have  convinced  me  that 
he  would  not  wish  to  accept  a  gift  of 
money  from  anyone,  not  even  from  me  ; 
and  I  have  also  been  made  to  feel  that 
I  was  not  justified  in  doing  as  I  have  done. 


242  KITTY  CLIVE. 

I  believe  that  you  were  less  culpable  than  I  sup 
posed,  and  that  you  do  what  is  right  -according  to 
the  code  by  which  you  live.  Therefore  I  have  put 
the  money  made  through  your  information  in  a 
bank,  in  your  name,  as  you  will  see  by  the  inclosed 
certificate.  You  will  make  what  use  of  it  you 
please  ;  I  hope  it  may  at  least  add  to  the  unhappi- 
ness  of  no  one."  This  was  all,  except  a  certificate 
showing  a  balance  to  Mr.  Golding's  credit  of 
twenty  one  thousand  five  hundred  dollars. 

"  What  induced  you  to  change  your  mind  and 
return  this  money  ?  "  demanded  Golding,  abruptly, 
facing  round  upon  Kitty. 

"  It  was  chiefly  the  influence  of  that  gentleman, 
Mr.  Golding,"  she  answered,  indicating  the  General, 
who  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  with  a  strange 
look  in  his  face.  "  He  is  one  of  the  best  men  that 
ever  lived  ;  and  it  was  the  knowledge  of  his  good 
ness  that  made  me  see  my  action  toward  you  in  a 
different  light.  He  would  have  made  me  the  heir 
ess  of  the  fortune  that  he  himself  received  unex 
pectedly  but  a  short  time  since  ;  and  when  I  could 
not  take  it,  and  he  saw  that  I  was  troubled  because 
of  something  I  had  done,  he  gave  me  the  counsel 
that  determined  me  to  give  up  my  purpose.  And 
I  wish  him  to  know  that  though,  as  fate  would 
have  it,  I  am  a  detected  and  disgraced  criminal, 
— and  though  he  himself,  perhaps,  would  shrink 
from  me  now — yet  I  feel  that  I  owe  whatever  is 
worth  living  for  in  my  life  to  him  ;  and  I  would 
willingly  undergo  all  the  infamy  and  suffering  that 


KITTY   CLIVE,  243 

may  be  in  store  for  me  for  the  sake  of  knowing 
that  he  believes  there  is  some  good  in  me,  and  is 
my  friend." 

The  General  had  listened  to  these  words  with  an 
air  of  strained  attention  that  was  painful  to  see  ; 
and  when,  at  the  last  sentence,  she  turned  and 
rested  her  eyes  on  him  for  the  first  time  since  her 
entrance,  he  suddenly  rose  to  his  feet  and  held  out 
his  arms,  and  a  cry  broke  from  him,  inarticulate, 
but  so  searching,  tender,  and  compassionate  that  it 
caused  the  tears  to  spring  to  the  eyes  of  more  than 
one  who  heard  it.  The  cry  stopped  abruptly,  and 
the  General  fell  back  into  his  chair,  as  if  smitten 
with  death.  Inspector  Byrnes  was  beside 'him  in 
an  instant,  but  not  before  Kitty  Clive  had 
reached  him.  Her  arm  was  round  him,  and  his 
head  rested  on  her  shoulder.  "  My  friend — my 
friend  !  "  she  murmured  ;  "  I  have  brought  this 
upon  you  !  " 

The  Inspector  felt  his  pulse  and  looked  in  his 
face.  "  It  is  paralysis,"  he  said  at  last,  "  not  death. 
He  will  be  better  presently  ;  Hamilton,  go  call  the 
surgeon  ;  allow  me,  Miss  Clive."  He  lifted  the 
stricken  man  in  his  strong  arms,  and  laid  him 
gently  on  the  sofa  at  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

Kitty  watched  him  with  yearning  eyes  ;  then  she 
clasped  her  hands  over  her  face  and  broke  into 
sobs.  "  Oh,  I  cannot  nurse  him— I  shall  not  see 
him  again  !  "  she  cried,  in  a  wild  tone  ;  "  I  brought 
it  on  him — my  friend — my  friend  !  " 

Meanwhile,  Mr.   Golding  and  Owens   had  been 


244  KITTY  CLIVE, 

conversing  apart,  and  the  former  now  came  for 
ward. 

"  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you,  Miss  Clive,"  he 
began,  going  up  to  her  and  putting  his  hand  on 
her  shoulder  ;  she  uncovered  her  face  as  she  felt 
his  strong  eyes  resting  upon  her.  "You  have 
been  a  naughty  girl,"  he  went  on,  "  and  I  don't 
mind  saying  that  you  have  caused  me  some 
uneasiness.  But  I  don't  believe  you  are  a 
hardened  offender  ;  and  as  no  one  outside  of  this 
room  knows  of  your  escapade  I  don't  see  that 
any  thing  would  be  gained  by  sending  you  to  prison. 
The  evidence  is  rather  confusing,  but  as  near  as  I 
can  make  it  out  some  young  fellow  in  whom  you 
feel  an  interest  has  been  dabbling  in  stocks,  and 
lost  his  money  ;  you  undertook  to  set  him  right 
and  punish  me  at  the  same  time  ;— and  now  you 
are  afraid  you  can't  marry  him,  becapse  you  have 
been  caught  writing  me  wicked  letters.  Is  that 
about  right  ?  well,  I  haven't  the  pleasure  of  this 
young  gentleman's  acquaintance  ;  but  all  I  have 
to  say  is,  if  he  doesn't  want  you,  you  may  take  it 
that  you  are  well  rid  of  him  !  a  man  who  doesn't 
know  a  woman  when  he  sees  one  is  a  fool.  But 
if,  on  the  contrary,  he  is  not  a  fool,  and  does 
want  you,  send  him  to  me,  and  I  will  find  something 
better  for  him  to  do  for  a  living  than  being 
sheared  on  'Change.  As  for  this  twenty  thousand 
dollars,  it  certainly  doesn't  belong  to  me  ;  and 
since  you  have  brought  it  into  existence,  I  don't 
see  but  you  must  be  responsible  for  it.  I  hope 


KITTY  CLIVE.  245 

you  will  for  once  prove  it  an  exception  to  the  prov 
erb  that  ill-gotten  gains  bring  ill  results.  Well, 
that's  all  for  the  present  ;  only,  with  the  permis 
sion  of  Inspector  Byrnes  here,  I  think  you  had 
better  attend  General  Weymouth  to  his  home,  and 
see  that  he  is  well  taken  care  for  there.  He  is  a 
good  man,  as  you  say  ;  and  I  hope  that  for  his 
sake  you  will  not  believe  all  the  evil  of  your  fellow- 
creatures  that  you  may  read  in  the  newspapers  or 
hear  from  idle  gossips.  Even  a  financier  may  not 
be  in  all  respects  a  heartless  scoundrel." 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  Inspector,  Golding  and 
Owens  were  alone  together  in  the  office. 

"  This  has  been  a  very  difficult  and  intricate 
business,  Inspector,"  Mr.  Golding  was  saying,  "  and 
I  am  much  indebted  to  you  for  the  masterly  man 
ner  in  which  you  have  got  to  the  bottom  of  it.  It 
only  remains  to  ask  you  the  amount  of  the  ex 
penses  that  you  have  incurred." 

"The  expenses  amount  to  nothing." 

"  Nothing  ?  no,  no,"  returned  Golding.  "  That's 
no  way  to  do  business,  and  you'll  never  be"  a  rich 
man  if  you  adopt  it." 

Inspector  Byrnes  smiled,  and  shook  his  head. 
"  I  am  just  as  much  obliged  to  you,  "  he  said.  "  I 
have  simply  done  my  duty  as  an  officer,  and  the  suc 
cess  of  my  stratagems  is  my  reward." 

"  Well,  there  seems  to  be  a  difference  between 
Mulberry  Street  and  Wall  Street,"  remarked  the 
other,  with  a  short  laugh.  "  Money  isn't  quite  so 


246  KITTY  CfJVE. 

much  of  a  drug  in  the  market  there  as  here.    Allow 
me  to  shake  hands  with  you  at  any  rajie." 

The  two  men  grasped  hands  cordially,  and 
Golding  said,  looking  the  detective  straight  in  the 
face,  "  Inspector,  if  I  ever  can  be  of  service  to  you, 
command  me  !  "  Owens  also  bade  him  a  hearty  fare 
well,  and  the  chief  detective  was  left  alone  to  med 
itate  over  all  that  had  happened. 

******* 

So  the  Gordian  knots  of  life  untwist  themselves, 
or  are  cut  asunder  by  the  sword  of  fate. 

General  Weymouth  died  six  months  after  the  last 
described  events,  tended  constantly  by  a  woman 
who  had  learned  the  meaning  of  gratitude, 
humility,  and  charity.  What  became  of  his  fortune 
I  have  never  been  told,  but  I  can  conjecture. 

John  Talbot  married  Miss  Betty  Clave'rhduse 
the  following  autumn  ;  they  received,  as  a  marriage 
gift  from  a  friend  of  theirs,  twenty-one  thousand 
five  hundred  dollars.  Betty  is  somewhat  more 
careful  of  her  tongue  than  she  used  to  be,  but  has 
not  yet  learned  how  to  skate. 

Captain  Hamilton  has  left  New  York,  and  is 
believed  to  be  in  Africa.  He  can  never  hear  the  song 
of  "  Caller  Herrin'  "  without  inexplicable  emotion. 

Cunliffe  has  a  good  position  on  a  railway.  He 
is  still  unmarried.  But  he  has  never  cared  for  but 
one  woman,  and  never  will. 

THE    END. 


Pears' 


You  Dirty  Boy  I 


It  is  un 
do  u  bted  ly 
true  that 
more  chil 
dren  have 
been  suc- 
cessf u 1 1 y 
reared  bytho 
use  of  Rid 
ge's  Food 
than  by  the 
use  of  all  the 
other  foods 
combined. 

Do  not  ex- 
per  i  m  e  n  t 
with  your 
child,  but 
take  the  food 
that  has 
stood  the 
test  of  time. 


MULTITUDES 

Of  Children  axe  starved  to  death 
for  want  of  proper  nourishment. 
An  ill-fed  stomach  will  cry  out, 
and  those  children  with  pale, 
waxy  faces,  flabby  skins,  with 
swollen  glands,  tell  a  sad  tale  of 
alow  starvation.  Experience  is 
the  great  teacher,  and  those  who 
have  not  used  Ridge'a  Food  for 
their  little  ones  should  give  it  a 
trial 

NURSING  MOTH 
ERS 

Vv'ill  find  an  increase  in  their  own 
strength  and  that  of  their  babes 
by  taking  a  bowl  of  Ridge's  Food 
every  night.    The   daily  uso  of 
Ridge's  Food  will  make  a  dyspep 
tic  invalid  happy.   It  is  soothing, 
strengthening  and  satifyinpc,  and 
can  be  used  in  a  great  variety  cf 
ways  to  suit  the  most  fastidious. 

A  CHILD'S  LIFE 

Depends  in  a  great  measure  on 
its  daily  food.  Remember,  if  the 
food  is  improper  in  kind  and  in 
sufficient  in  quantity,  tho  founda 
tion  is  laid  for  future  misery  and 
disease.  Children  who  are  fed  on 
Ridge's  Food  grow  up  strong  and 
healthy,  and  tens  ot  thousands 
are  saved  every  year  by  its  use. 

AN  ENTHUSIAST 

Of  Ridge's  Food  writes:  If  per 
sons  suffering  from  dyspepsia,  in 
digestion,  sour  or  irritable  gtom- 
ach  will    give    up  the    uses    of 
tobacco    and    tonic    stimulants, 
and  live  for  a  while  on  Ridge's 
Food,  they  can  rise  on  a  morning 
bright  as  a  dollar,  with  a  clean 
tonpue,  a  bright  temper,  and  well 
prepared  to  do  a  hard  day's  work. 

Isendto  Woolrich  &  Co.,  Palmer,  Mass.,  for  pamphlet,  entitled. 
Healthful  Hints,"  sent  FREE  to  any  address. 


FALL DRESS  GOODS. 

JAMES  McCREERY  &  CO. 

Offer  among  their  large  assortment  of  Fall 
Dress  Goods  the  following  Special  Lines  : 

Two  Lines  Stripe  and  Check  Cheviots,  44 
inches  wide,  at  60  cents  ;  worth  $1. 

Also,  Three  lines,  Check  and  Stripe  Suitings, 
54  inches  wide,  at  75  cents  ;  well  worth  $1.25. 

ORDERS  }  from  any  part  of  the  country  will  re* 
MAIL.     \      ceive  careful  and  prompt  attention. 

JAMES    McCREERY    &    CO., 

Broadway  and  llth  St.,  New  York. 

New  Story  of  Adventure,  uniform  with  "  King 
Solomon's  Mines,"  etc. 

DEAD  MAN'S  ROCK. 

A    ROMANCE. 

By  "  Q."     Crown  8vo,  cloth,  352  pages,  75   cents  ; 
paper,  25  cents. 

This  work  is  by  a  new  writer,  who  is  content  to  be  known  for  the  prer,- 
ent  as  "  Q."  To  any  one  who  can  enjoy  an  adventure  story  .of  breathless 
interest,  written  in  vivid,  stirring,  picturesque  style,  thorough  enjoyment 
is  in  store.  A  perusal  will,  it  is  thought,  leave  the  reader  \viih  the  con 
viction  that  it  fully  equals  its  charming  predecessors,  "  Treasure  Island," 
"  King  Solomon's  Mines,"  etc. 

CASSELL  &  COMPANY,  LIMITED, 
104  &  106  FOURTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


WHAT  AILS  YOU? 

Do  you  feel  dull,  languid,  low-spirited,  lifeless,  and  inde 
scribably  miserable,  both  physically  and  mentally  ;  experience 
a  sense  of  fullness  or  bloating  after  eating,  or  of  "goneness," 
or  emptiness  of  stomach  in  the  morning,  tongue  coated,  bitter 
or  baa  taste  in  mouth,  irregular  appetite,  dizziness,  frequent 
headaches,  blurred  eyesight,  "floating  specks"  before  the 
eyes,  nervous  prostration  or  exhaustion,  irritability  of  temper, 
hot  flushes,  alternating  with  chilly  sensations,  sharp,  biting, 
transient  pains  here  and  there,  cold  feet,  drowsiness  after 
meals,  wakefulness,  or  disturbed  and  unrefreshing  sleep, 
constant,  indescribable  feeling  of  dread,  or  of  impending 
calamity  ? 

If  you  have  all,  or  any  considerable  number  of  these 
eymptoms,  you  are  suffering1  from  that  most  common  of 
American  maladies—  Bilious  Dyspepsia,  or  Torpid  Liver. 
associated  with  Dyspepsia,  or  Indigestion.  The  more  com 
plicated  your  disease  has  become,  the  greater  the  number 
and  diversity  of  symptoms.  No  matter  what  stage  it  has 
reached.  Dr.  Pieree's  Golden  Medical  Iiiscovery  will 
subdue  it,  if  taken  according  to  directions  for  a  reasonable 
length  of  time.  If  not  cured,  complications  multiply,  and 
Consumption  of  the  Lungs,  Skin  Diseases,  Heart  Disease. 
Rheumatism,  Kidney  Disease,  or  other  grave  maladies  are 
quite  liable  to  set  in,  and,  sooner  or  later,  induce  a  fatal 
termination. 

Dr.  Pieree's  Golden  Medical  Discovery 

CURES  ALL  HUMORS, 

from  a  common  Blotch,  or  Eruption,  to  the  worst  Scrofula. 
Salt-rheum,  "  Fever-sores,"  Scaly  or  Rough  Skin,  in  short, 
all  diseases  caused  by  bad  blood,  are  conquered  by  this  pow 
erful,  purifying,  and  invigorating  medicine.  Great  Eating- 
Ulcers  rapidly  heal  under  its  benign  influence.  Especially 
has  it  manifested  its  potency  in  curing  Tetter,  Eczema,  Ery 
sipelas,  Boils,  Carbuncles,  Sore  Eyes,  Scrofulous  Sores  and 
Swellings,  Hip-joint  Disease,  "White  Swellings,"  Goitre,  or 
Thick  Neck,  and  Enlarged  Glands. 


which  is  Scrofula  of  the  Lungs,  is  arrested  and  cured  by 
this  remedy,  if  taken  in  the  earlier  stages  of  the  disease. 

For  Weak  Lungs,  Spitting  of  Blood,  Shortness  of  Breath, 
Chronic  Nasal  Catarrh,  Bronchitis,  Asthma,  Severe  Coughs, 
and  kindred  affections,  it  is  an  efficient  remedy. 

Sold  by  Druggists,  at  $1.00,  or  Six  Bottles  for  $5.00. 

World's  Dispensary  Medical  Association, 

NO.  663  raaiu  street,  BUFFALO,  N.Y. 


CASSELL'S   "RAINBOW"  SERIES 


,    OF  NEW  AND  ORIGINAL  NOTELS. 

By  Popular  American  and  Foreign  Authors.     In  Large  i2mo.  volumes 

of  192  pages  each.     Elegantly   printed    on    good  paper 

and  bound  in  paper  cover. 

PRICE  TWENTY-FIVE  CENTS  PER  VOLUME. 
NOW  "READY. 

AS  IT  WAS  WRITTEN.-A  Jewish  Musician's 
Story. 

By  SIDNEY  LUSKA.    Author  of  "  Mrs.  Peixada,"  etc. 

WANTED-A  SENSATION;  A  Saratoga  Inci 
dent. 

By  EDWARD  S.  VAN  ZILB. 

A  MORAL  SINNER. 

By  MYRTILLA  N.  DALY. 

SCRUPLES. 

By  MRS.  J.  H.  WALWORTH,  author  of  "  Bar  Sinster,"  etc.  etc. 

MARVELOUS  IN  OUR  EYES. 

By  EMMA  E.  HORNIBROOK. 

WITNESS  MY  HAND. 

By  the  author  of  "  Lady  Gwendolen's  Tryst." 

A  PRINCE  OF  DARKNESS. 

By  FLORENCE  WARDEN,  author  of  "  The  House  on  the  Marsh  "  etc. 

KING  SOLOMON'S  MINES. 

A  Thrilling  Story  founded  on  an   African  Legend.     By  H.   RIDER 
HAGGARD,  author  of  "  Dawn,"  "  The  Witch's  Head,"  etc. 

NATASQUA. 

By  REBECCA  HARDING  DAVIS,  author  of  "  Waiting  for  the  Verdict," 
etc  ,  etc. 

OLD  FULKERSON'S  CLERK. 

By  MRS.  J.  H.  WALWORTH,  author  of  ••  The  Bar  Sinister,"  "  Without 
Blemish, ''  etc. 

OUR  SENSATION  NOVEL. 

Edited  by  JUSTIN  H.  MCCARTHY,  M.  P. 

MORGAN'S  HORROR. 

A  Romance  of  the  "  West  Countree." 

By  GEORGE  MANVILLE  FENV,  author  of  "  Sweet  Mace,"  "  Parson  •* 

Dumford,"  "  Poverty  Corner,"  etc. 

A  CRIMSON  STAIN. 

By  ANNIE  BRADSHAW. 
OTHER    VOLUMES  IN  PREPARATION. 

CASSELL     &     COMPANY,    Limited, 

104  &  106  FOURTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 

Shakespeare's  King  Henry  IV. 

ILLUSTRATED  BY 

HERR  EDWARD  GRULZNER. 

Photogravure  illustrations.      The    text  on  Whatman's  hand-made  paper. 
Tastefully  printed  in  red  and  black.     Edition  limited. 

Price,  per  copy,  $25.00. 


MARTIN  LUTHER, 

THE  MAN  AND  HIS  WORK. 
nv 

PETER  BAYNE,  LL.  D. 
1,040  pages.     Extra  cloth,  2  vols. 
Per  set,   $5.0O. 


Abbeys  and  Churches  of  England 
and  Wales. 

DESCRIPTIVE,  HISTORICAL,  PICTORIAL. 

Edited  by  the 

REV.  T.  G.  BONNEY,  SC.  DOC.,  F.  R.  S., 

Professor  of  Geology  in  University  College,  London. 
Cloth,  $5.00.  Full  Morocco,  $10.00. 


THE  MODERN  SCHOOL  OF  ART. 

EDITED  BY 

WILFRED  MEYNELL. 

With  8  full-page  plates  and  etchings,  and  over  125  illustrations. 

Cloth,  $6.OO.  Full  Morocco,  $  I  O.OO. 

CASSELL  &  COMPANY,  LIMITED, 
104  &  106  FOURTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


NEW  NOVELS. 


THE  YOKE  OF  THE  THORAH. 

By    SIDNEY    LUSKA, 

Author  of  "  As  it  was  Written,"  "  Mrs.  Peixada,"  etc.    i  vol.  16  mo. 

Cloth,  $I.OO.    Paper,  5O  cents. 


CALAMITY     JANE. 

A  STORY  OF  THE  BLACK  HILLS. 
BY 

MRS.  GEORGE  E.  SPENCER, 

Author  of  "  A  Plucky  One,"  etc.,  etc.    i  vol.,  12  mo.     Paper. 

Price,  25  cents, 


THE  THREE  TETONS. 

A  STORY  OF  THE  YELLOWSTONE. 
BY 

ALICE  WELLINGTON  ROLLINS, 

Author  of  "  Story  of  a  Ranch,  etc.,  etc.,     i  vol.     16  mo.     Paper. 

Price,  5O  cents. 


WHO   IS   JOHN    NOMAN? 

BY 

CHARLES  HENRY  BECKETT. 

i  vol.,  16  mo,  extra  cloth.  Price,   $  I  .00. 

"  The  characters  have  been  drawn   with  a  firm  hand,   and  the  marked 
individuality  which  they  possess  hold  to  the  end." 

Send  for  complete  descriptive  catalogue,  which  will  be  sent  free 
to  any  address  on  application. 


CASSELL  &  COMPANY,  LIMITED, 
104.  &  106  FOURTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


CASSELL'S    NATIONAL  LIBRARY. 

Edited  by  Prof.  Henry  l^orley,  LL.D. 

A   series   of  weekly  volumes,  each  containing  about  200  pages,  clear, 
readable  print,  on  good  paper,  at  the  low  price  of 

TEN    CENTS    PER    VOLUME, 
Or  iu  Extra  Cloth,  25  Cents  per  Vol. 


1—  My  Ten  Years'  Imprisonment. 
2-Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage. 


pri 
ilgri 
Be 


3-Autobiography  of  Benjamin  Franklin. 

4— The  Complete  Angrier. 

5-The  Man  of  Feeling. 

6— The  School  ibr  Scandal  and  the  Rivals. 

7— Sermons  on  the  Card.    Other  Discourses 

8— Lives  of  Alexander  and  Caesar. 

8 -The  Castle  of  Otranto. 
—Voyages  and  Travels. 
1 1— She  Stoops  to  Conauer,  etc. 
12    Adventures  of  Baron  Trenck.    Vol.1. 
13- Adventures  of  Baron  Trenck.     Vol.  II. 
14    The  Lady  of  the  Lake. 
15-Table-Talk. 
16- The  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients,  Etc. 

5*7 Francis  Bacon. 
8-Lives  of  Poets,  Waller,  Milton,  Cowley. 
19— Thoughts  on  Present  Discontents,  etc. 
2O-The  Battle  of  the  Books,  etc. 
21— Poems. 


J-Egypt  and  Scythia. 
53-Hamlet. 
fc-Voy 
>-Nat 


Nature  and . 


24— Voyagers'  Tales, 
d  Art. 

26— Lives  of  Alcibiades,  Coriolanus,  etc. 
27-~ 
28 


31-: 

32-; 


8-  Sir  R.  de  Coverley  &  Spectator's  Club. 

9— Voyages  and  Travels. 

O-The  Merchant  of  Venice. 

— Religio  Medici. 

_  j- Voyages  in  Search  of  N.  W.  Passage. 
33-Diary  of  Samuel  Pepys,  1660-1661. 
34  -Earlier  Poems. 
35-The  Sorrows  of  Werter. 

t6-Lives  of  Poets-Butler,  Denham,  etc. 
7-Nathan  the  Wise. 
38— Grace  Abounding. 
39-Macbeth. 

4O-Earlier  Australian  Voyages. 
41-Poems,  1700-1714. 
42— Diary  of  Samuel  Pepys.     1662-1663. 
43— Bravo  of  Venice. 

44— Lives  of  Demetrius,  Mark  Antony,  etc 
45— Peter  Plymley's  Letters,  etc. 
46— Travels  in  England. 
47— Undine  and  the  Two  Captains. 
48— Confessions  of  an  Inquiring  Spirit,  etc 
49— As  You  Like  It. 
5O— Western  Islands. 
51— Carol  and  Chimes. 
52-The  Christian  Year. 
53— Wanderings  in  South  America. 
54— Life  of  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury. 
65-Tlae  Hunchback.— The  Love  Chase. 
56   Crotchet  Castle. 
67— Lives  of  Demosthenes,  Cicero,  Etc. 
68— Lays  of  Ancient  Rome. 
69-Sermons  on  Evil  Speaking, 


SILVIO  PELLICO. 
LORD  BYRON. 

ISAAC  WALTON. 
HENRY  MACKENZIE. 
K.  B.  SHERIDAN. 
BISHOP  LATIMKR. 
PLUTARCH. 
HORACE  WALPOLK. 
SIR  JOHN  MAUNDEVILLE. 
OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 
THOMAS  HOLCROFT. 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT,  Bart 
MARTIN  LUTHER. 
FRANCIS  BACON. 
LORD  MACAULAT. 
SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 
EDMUND  BURKE, 
DEAN  SWIFT. 
GEORGE  CRABBE, 
HERODOTUS. 
WM.  SHAKESPEARE. 
RICHARD  HAKLUYT. 
MRS.  INCHBALD. 
PLUTARCH. 
ABRAHAM  COWLEY. 
STEELE  and  ADDISON. 
MARCO  POLO. 
WM.  SHAKESPEARE. 
SIR  THOS.  BROWNE,  M.D. 
RICHARD  HAKLUYT. 

JOHN  MILTON. 
GOETHE. 

SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 
LESSING. 
JOHN  BUNYAN. 
WM.  SHAKESPEARE. 
JOHN  PINKERTON. 
ALEXANDER  POPB. 

M.  G.  LEWIS. 
PLUTARCH. 
SYDNEY  SMITH. 
MORITZ. 

FOUQUE. 

COLERIDGE. 

WM.  SHAKESPEARE. 

S.  JOHNSON. 

CHARLES  DICKENS. 

REV.  JOHN  KEBLE. 

CHAS.  W'ATERTON. 

By  HIMSELF. 

JAS.  SHERIDAN  KNOWIES. 

THOMAS  LOVE  PEACOCK. 

PLUTARCH. 

MACAULAY. 

ISAAC  BARROW.  M.D. 


60-Diary  of  Samuel  Pepys,    10Q3-XOG4. 

61-The  Tempest.  WM.  SHAKESPEARE. 

62  ^.Rosalind.  THOMAS  LODGE. 

63-Isaac  Bickerscaflf.  STEELE'S  "  TATLER." 

64-Gebir,  and  Cou;  t  Julian.  WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOS, 

6a-The  Earl  of  Chatham.  LORD  MACAULAY 

-The  Discovery  of  Guiana.  SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH. 

a~N£tUIal  Hi?t0?y  °f  Selborne.    Vol.  I.  REV.  G.  WHITE,  A.M. 

J-The  Angel  in  the  House.  COVENTRY  PATMORE. 
69-Murder  as  a  Fine  Art.  -The   English 

Mail-Coach.  THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY 

??-?r1pUs^fhir^o°nfSelb0rne-    VOLI1-  SIAGNWHITE'A-M- 

72—  Lives  of  Cato  the  Younger,  Agris,  Cieo- 

menes,  and  The  Gracchi.  PIUHRCH 

73—  Julius  Caesar.  WM  SHAKESPEARE 

74—  Diary  of  Samuel  Pepys.    1664-1665. 

7,£"EB2ay  on  3s?an-  ALEXANDER  POPE. 

8-A  Tour  in  Ireland.  ARTHUR  YOTJNG. 

77-  History  of  New  York.    Vol.  I.  WASHINGTON  IRVING 

TS-History  of  New  York.    Vol.  II.  WASHINGTON  IRVINO; 

79-A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream.  SHAKESPEARE. 

8O-The  Banquet  of  Plato.  SHELLEY 


Dale. 

rica.         .    . 
-  Travels  in  the  Interior  of  Africa.  Vol.11.  MUNGO  PARK 

-:pee  Sffr^of  Samuel  Pepys.-1666. 

i7-  Kin»  Henry  VIII.  WM  SHAKFSPFAT?W 

- 


. 

-  Travels  in  the  Interior  of  Africa.  Vol.  I.  MUNGO  PARK 
Vol.11.  MUNGO  PARK 

HERBERT' 


. 

8  -An  Essav  on  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful.  EDriuxD 
89-Lives  of  Timoleon,    Paulus  ^Emelius 

Lysander  and  Sylia.  '  PLUTARCH 

|?rS?S30?^g?ier  Poems.  58B  & 

:=|  SSS  A^ffgblk.  sermon,      KSfSS 
94—  Sintram  and  His  Companions.  Asla-iga's 

OS-Difry'^Samuel  Pepys.-l  666-1  667       ^  ^^  F°UQUB- 
8«-Life  and  Death  of  l£ne  John.  WM. 


f23~Viai7  of  Samuel  Pepys,  1667. 

1O4— An  .Jssay  Jpon  Projects.  DAI 

lO5-Cricket  on  the  Hearth  with  Selections 

106-Anecdotes  of  the  Late  Samuel  John-  "" 

son,  LL.D.  HESTHER  LYNCH  Piozzi 

107-Solon,  Publicola,   Philopcemen,    Titus 

Quinctius    Flamininus,   and    Caius 

Marius.  PLUTARCH. 

108-Prometheus  Unbound,  with  Adonais, 

The    Cloud,  Hymn   to   Intellectual 
,  ™    .m. Beauty'  and  An  Exhortation.  PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLET 

-The  Hepubiic  of  the  Future.  ANNA  BOWMAN  DODD 

110-King  Lear.  WM-  SHAKESPEARE.  " 

CASSELL    &     COMPANY,     Limited, 
104  &  106  FOURTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


THE    COMMON    CHORD. 

A  Stoiy  of  the  Ninth  Ward.  By  HENRY  R.  ELLIOT, 
Author  of  "  The  Bassett  Claim."  One  Volume.  I2mo. 
Extra  Cloth.  $1.00. 

A  well  known  critic  says  of  it,  "  Piquant,  very  original  and  deeply 
interesting." 

THE  WHOLE  TRUTH. 

A  Novel.  By  J.  H.  CIIADWICK.  One  Volume.  I2mo. 
Extra  Cloth.  Price,  $1.00. 

"  The  style  is  crisp  and  unaffected,  and  the  author  holds  the  reader's 
attention  to  the  end." 

THE  TRAGEDY  OF  BRINK- 
WATER^ 

A  Novel.  By  MARTHA  LIVINGSTON  MOODEY.  One 
Volume.  i6mo.  Extra  Cloth.  Price,  $l.oo. 

"Strong  in  conception,  vigorous  in  style — a  story  that  will  interest 
young  and  old  alike — each  detail  developes  until  the  climafcis  scached, 
and  the  mystery  of  The  Tragedy  of  Brink-water  is  revealed. 

41  A  Powerfttl  Novel  of  Neia   York  Life." 

TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF 
GOTHAM. 

One  Volume.    i6mo.    Extra  Cloth.     Price,  $l.oo. 

*'A  work  certain  to  attract  ur.usual  attention  by  its  brilliant  pen 
pictures  of  New  York  scenes  and  its  clever  handling  of  New  York 
people.  The  authors  a-e  two  men  well  known  about  town,  who  paint 
scenes  they  have  looked  on  in  a  way  that  at  once  shows  a  knowledge 
of  them." 


CASSELL   &   COMPANY,    Limited, 

104  £  106  FOURTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


: 


LD  21A-50m-8,'57 
(C8481slO)476B 


YB  75662 


